


St. John's Lutheran High

by twinkjohnmurphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, M/M, Murphamy Week 2016, Parochial School, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Step-Brothers, Unconventional Relationship, background minty & princess mechanic & linctavia, cocky!Murphy, oblivious!Bellamy, two tropes for the price of one!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8212505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkjohnmurphy/pseuds/twinkjohnmurphy
Summary: The first thing Bellamy notices about him are his eyes; they’re very large and wide set, but half-lidded as if he’s already bored. His irises are a beautiful shade of cornflower blue that piques Bellamy’s interest immediately. The boy scans the room slowly, uninterested.Kane pauses and counts to ten, Bellamy assumes. “Bellamy, Octavia. Say hello to your new stepbrother.”Bellamy blinks dumbly, sure that he has misheard something. Octavia’s jaw drops, but Miller is the first to break the silence. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”---Modern AU where Murphy is an orphan, Bellamy is the son of a pastor, and they attend a Lutheran high school.What could possibly go wrong?





	1. God is an Indian and You're an Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this fic for day 7 of murphamy week 2016: unconventional relationships
> 
> i put it on hold while trying to finish my other story, and just came back to it a few days ago. new chapters may be sporadic until i'm done with Hide Your Soul, but i'll do my best to update as often as possible!
> 
> once again, please feel free to comment, question, and critique. your opinions mean the world to me!
> 
> enjoy <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> each chapter is going to be named after a lyric of a song from a mix that i'm in the process of making for this fic. the title for this chapter comes from the song of the same name by the band Modest Mouse. i highly recommend giving it a listen!

“OCTAVIA! IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM WE’RE GONNA BE LATE FOR FIRST PERIOD AGAIN!”

Bellamy bangs his fist on the restroom door, again, for the _fifth_ time, and sighs in exasperation, allowing his forehead to rest against the surface. He doesn’t understand how girls can spend two hours in front of a mirror and look almost exactly the same as before. Why couldn’t he just have a brother? Octavia opens the door a moment later and Bellamy stumbles through the threshold. “Please find some fucking chill, big bro.”

He purses his lips. “I am the epitome of chill. You’d better not let Pastor Blake hear you talk like that, demon child.”

Octavia laughs, rolling her eyes. “Epitome? Don’t be such a nerd.” Bellamy shrugs and reaches for the toothpaste. “Bell, why do you always call him that? Just call him Caleb. Or, you know. Dad.”

Bellamy mumbles around the toothbrush in his mouth. “We’ve talked about this before, O. Caleb’s not my dad.” He spits into the sink. “Come on, we gotta go.”

The siblings bound down the stairs and snatch their backpacks from the kitchen table. Their mom presses a kiss to both of their foreheads with a smile, handing them each an apple. “Have a good day, you two.”

“Thanks, mom.” Bellamy takes a bite of the apple before grabbing his car keys and dashing towards the front door. He grunts at Octavia, who is still examining her reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing down the skirt of her uniform. “O! Hurry up!” 

They hear Aurora call out before the door slams shut. “Don’t speed, Bellamy!”

***

Bellamy swings his silver Jeep into the parking lot behind a building with the words ‘Saint John’s Lutheran High School’ etched elegantly into stone above an ornate wooden door. Intricate stained glass murals of Jesus decorate either side of the doorway. Bellamy may have mixed feelings about religion, but he can still appreciate the beauty of the school’s architecture.

He slips into his homeroom class a minute before the bell rings and drops his bag on his assigned desk in the back of the room. Bellamy pulls out a notebook and pencil as the teacher begins taking attendance. The boy to his right leans over, lightly smacking his arm. “Dude, you were almost late for, like, the third time this week.”

“Trust me, Miller. I’m well aware.” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Octavia takes forever to get ready.”

Bellamy’s best friend scoffs and offers a sympathetic smile. “Girls. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t kill ‘em.” Bellamy chuckles a little too loud and the teacher clears her throat pointedly, peering over her small, wire-framed glasses with tight lips and narrowed eyes. Her dark auburn hair is pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head and Bellamy thinks she resembles a vulture. He slides down in his seat.

After a moment of annoyed silence, the teacher finishes her roll call. “Alright, we’ll start with a quick prayer and continue on with the reading from yesterday. Would anyone like to— can I help you, young man?” The entire class turns around to face a thin, pale boy with messy brown hair leaning casually against the doorframe.

The first thing Bellamy notices about him are his eyes; they’re very large and wide set, but half-lidded as if he’s already bored. His irises are a beautiful shade of cornflower blue that piques Bellamy’s interest immediately. The boy scans the room slowly, uninterested.

The second thing Bellamy notices is that the boy’s uniform is, well, hardly that at all. He’s got his jacket slung over his left shoulder and the sleeves of his white button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows, not to mention the top few buttons that are undone, exposing his prominent collarbones. The standard blue and silver striped tie hangs completely _un_ tied from his neck. A studded belt glints around the waistband of his light grey slacks which are tucked haphazardly into chunky black combat boots. Bellamy observes the spiked leather bracelet on his right wrist when the boy runs a hand under his nose and sniffs. “Yeah, the dude at the main office told me to check in at B105 for homeroom with…” He looks at something scribbled on the palm of his hand. “With Ms. Novak.”

The teacher’s eyebrows shoot up, her lips parted slightly, and if Bellamy is being honest, it’s the first time all year that she hasn’t looked like she’s been sucking on a lemon wedge. She composes herself quickly and motions to the room with a sweeping hand. “Well, you’ve come to the right place; I’m Ms. Novak. You must be—”

“Murphy.” He pops his bubblegum loudly and stares, unblinking.

“Murphy. Of course.” Ms. Novak clasps her hands together. “You can take the open seat in the corner, next to Mr. Blake. But I’ll need you to spit out your gum first, please.”

Murphy blows a bubble, smirking when it pops. “Spitters are quitters.” He makes a show of swallowing his gum instead and dropping into the chair to the left of Bellamy. When he realizes he’s been gawking, Bellamy swivels his head to the right and cocks a questioning eyebrow at Miller, who merely shrugs.

Ms. Novak remains silent for a few seconds, unsure of the events that just took place. She blinks, unfolding her hands and retreating behind her desk. “Right. As I was saying, I need a volunteer to start today’s prayer. Anyone?” Nobody offers, so Ms. Novak smiles and gestures to Murphy. “Mr. Murphy, since it’s your first day, why don’t you begin?”

“Don’t know any prayers, Miss.” His voice is flat and indifferent.

“That’s quite alright, it doesn’t have to be a formal one. Perhaps just talk about something you’re grateful for.”

Murphy grins mischievously before pressing his palms together and closing his eyes. He’s theatrical, to say the least. “Dear God.” The class giggles and Bellamy attempts to hide a smile as Ms. Novak shushes. “I’m grateful that, despite being stuck in this hellhole, I get to sit next to the hottest piece of ass I’ve laid eyes on in awhile. Good lookin’ out, fam.” 

The teenagers erupt into laughter but Bellamy doesn’t even register what Murphy has said until Miller leans over to ruffle his curls with a shit-eating grin. Bellamy feels his face get hot and he glances back at Murphy, who’s staring forward with a smirk, already sticking another piece of gum in his mouth. As Ms. Novak smacks a ruler on her desk to get the class to quiet down, Murphy turns his head slightly towards Bellamy, winks, and blows another bubble. Bellamy snaps his attention to the front of the room, sure that his entire body is blushing.

“Mr. Murphy, I’m going to have to ask you to leave my classroom. Wait in Principal Kane’s office so I can have a word with you after class.” Her voice is brimming with thinly veiled rage.

Murphy slides out of his desk, limbs loose, and exits the classroom with a half-assed salute. His movements are like fluid. “Whatever you say, Miss.”

The strange boy is gone as quick as he came and Bellamy shakes his head in disbelief? Confusion? Frustration? He’s not exactly sure which emotion has him dizzy and flushed. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and struggles to focus on the words Ms. Novak says for the rest of the period.

***

When lunch rolls around, Bellamy has almost completely forgotten the incident in homeroom. Well. Sort of.

Not at all, really, but that’s what he tells himself anyways.

He plops down at a table between Miller and Octavia with a tray full of food and a silent prayer that his best friend will keep his mouth shut about Murphy. The prayer is in vain.

“Guys.” Miller leans in to the center of the table and flicks his eyes around the cafeteria, then lowers his voice. “You will _never_ believe what happened in Ms. Novak’s class this morning.”

Everyone else at the table falls silent instantly, sharing curious grins. It’s rare that anything happens at St. John’s that’s worthy of gossip. The blonde on Octavia’s other side bites into her banana and talks through a mouthful of food. “What, did she finally lose her shit? I told you it was only a matter of time. Think that bun is too tight, it’s cutting off circulation to her brain.” She makes a twirling motion with her index finger next to her ear.

Bellamy tries and fails to hide his disgust. “Clarke, can you act like a normal human being for three seconds and swallow before you speak?” Clarke sticks her tongue out at him like she’s twelve, and he returns the sentiment with a giggle, like he’s twelve.

Miller waves his arms to draw their attention back in. “All of you shut up. So we’re sitting there getting ready for the morning prayer when this kid shows up at the door. He looks like a weird cross between a greaser and a twink.” Bellamy almost chokes on an orange slice.

“Miller!” Bellamy gives his best friend a warning glare and jerks his head towards his sister. Miller and Octavia roll their eyes simultaneously.

Octavia responds distractedly, typing on her phone. “I know what a twink is, Bell.” He makes a mental note to never ask where she learned that.

One boy with dark wavy hair and a wide-eyed expression leans further into the discussion, attempting a whisper. “What’s a twink?” The table groans collectively.

“You’ll learn when you’re older, Jasper.” Bellamy feels like a babysitter. “Miller, I don’t think—”

He’s cut off mid-scold. “As I was _saying_ , he looks like some rebel wannabe. Says his name is Murphy, and that he’s there for homeroom. Ms. Novak asks him to start the prayer and when he says he doesn’t know any, she basically tells him to wing it.”

Octavia sets her phone down, now as enthralled as the others. “That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Miller smiles, nodding his head slowly as he recalls the memory. “Oh, it was. And get this, he goes ‘Dear God. I’m grateful that, despite being stuck in this hellhole, I get to sit next to the hottest piece of ass I’ve laid eyes on in a while. Good lookin’ out, fam.’ and Ms. Novak flips. Sent him to Kane’s office for the rest of class. We haven’t seen him since, actually.”

Six stunned faces gape at Miller, including Bellamy’s. He didn’t think Miller would remember _word for word_ what Murphy had said. The other girl at the table twirls the metal charm of her necklace in her fingers and furrows her brow. “Wait, who was he talking about? The hot piece of ass?” Miller glances at Bellamy momentarily. His eyes are wide and pleading and he hopes for once in his life that Miller will just _shut the fuck up_. 

“Well, Raven, apparently he was referring to our very own Bellamy Blake.” Miller claps him on the back with a smirk and Bellamy presses a couple fingers to his temple. It takes all of his strength and willpower not to throttle his best friend in the middle of the lunchroom.

The small boy to Miller’s right brushes his jet black hair away from his eyes. “What did you say he looked like again?”

Bellamy grimaces. This is getting really out of hand. “Monty, don’t encourage him.”

“Like he’s trying to be punk but also like he’s the poster boy for gay teen porn.” Bellamy covers his face with his hands and groans. Miller shrugs. “What? It’s true. I mean, I would know.”

Monty blushes, but ignores the comment and points to the doors of the cafeteria instead. “So…like that?” Everyone whips their heads in the direction Monty is looking, straining to see. Bellamy thinks they couldn’t be more obvious if they tried.

Principal Kane stands by the room’s entrance with his hand on Murphy’s shoulder as he undoubtedly delivers one of his infamous motivational speeches. Murphy looks the same as this morning, chewing bubblegum and wearing as little of his uniform as possible. In fact, the only thing about him that has changed is his expression which, while still stoic, seems much darker than before. Murphy nods begrudgingly at whatever Kane says, then follows him as he heads…directly for their table?

The seven of them panic briefly while trying to appear like they hadn’t all just been watching the exchange with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. Kane either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He stands by their table, Murphy at his heels, and greets the group with a friendly smile. “Hope all of you are enjoying your day so far.” He waves an explanatory hand over Murphy. “This is Mr. Murphy. He’s going to be attending St. John’s from now on. Murphy, this is Octavia, Clarke, Raven, Jasper, Monty, and Nathan.” They each offer a quick nod or wave for Kane’s benefit. “I believe you’ve already met Bellamy.”

Murphy shrugs. “Yeah, well, ‘met’ is a strong word.” Bellamy suddenly becomes very interested in his empty milk carton.

Kane pauses and counts to ten, Bellamy assumes. “Bellamy, Octavia. Say hello to your new stepbrother.”

Bellamy blinks dumbly, sure that he has misheard something. Octavia’s jaw drops, but Miller is the first to break the silence. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Kane glares in his direction. “Watch your language, son.” Miller ducks his head sheepishly.

Bellamy didn’t think it was possible, but Murphy looks about three shades paler than before. He grabs Kane’s arm, apparently just as surprised as the rest of them. “What are you talking about?” Bellamy takes a second to appreciate the first expression he’s seen on Murphy’s face that isn’t one of complete apathy. “I thought that—”

“The plans have changed. Mr. and Mrs. Blake kindly agreed to let you stay with them until further notice. You’ll get a ride with Bellamy and Octavia after school.” Kane addresses the rest of the group with overstated authority. “I want you all to show Mr. Murphy around; make him feel at home. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my office for a meeting.” He turns and exits the cafeteria, leaving Murphy with his mouth agape. Bellamy notes the way Murphy’s hand shakes when he combs his fingers through his hair.

Jasper wastes no time engaging Murphy in conversation. “So, what did you do to wind up here? Did you get kicked out of your other school?” His dopey smile fades and his eyes widen slightly. “Are you a criminal?” He receives an elbow to the ribs and a disapproving glare from Raven.

Murphy screws up his face in confusion. “No, I’m not a criminal. The people that were supposed to be my foster family live in this school district, so…” He trails off, clearly not wanting to explain any further and thankfully, Jasper gets the hint. Unfortunately, his next topic of choice is just as tactless.

“Is Murphy your real name? It’s pretty weird.” Bellamy covers his eyes with a hand, trying to avoid having an aneurysm as Clarke politely reminds Jasper of the talk they had about thinking before you speak.

“That’s because it’s my last name.” Murphy rolls his eyes, and Bellamy swears he can actually see Murphy mentally stopping himself from ending his response with an insult. Their task of ‘making Murphy feel at home’ is clearly off to a _great_ start.

“What’s your first name?” Monty’s attempt at a friendly interaction is far better, which surprises no one, but Murphy only answers by blinking slowly.

“Come on, tell us! We won’t laugh, promise.” Octavia does her best pout and Murphy sighs loudly, apparently just as susceptible to her charm as everyone else in the universe.

“It’s John. John Murphy. But if any of you call me that, I’ll end you.” He pauses, rethinking his words, and raises his hands in supplication. “In a non-criminal way.”

Miller laughs loudly. “It’s cool, dude. I go by my last name, too.” He reaches out a hand to side-five Murphy, who reciprocates automatically with a small smile ghosting his lips. 

“Well, Murph, Are you gonna stand there all day or are you gonna sit with the cool kids?” Raven grins brightly but doesn’t wait for an answer and instead pulls Murphy by his arm onto the vacant chair between her and Clarke.

Murphy chuckles. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Everyone else at the table shakes their heads and they spend the rest of lunch talking animatedly about how they should “properly” initiate Murphy into their friend group with a goat sacrifice (which eventually turns into a Pringle sacrifice when Bellamy intervenes as the Responsible One™).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was raised catholic but i know jack shit™ about religion or parochial schools so sorry if this is Wildly Inaccurate please forgive me for this mess
> 
> also i am going Straight To Hell


	2. Where We're From, We're No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title for this chapter is from "Hometown" by Twenty One Pilots
> 
> go listen to it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -a quick breakdown-
> 
> octavia: 14, freshman  
> jasper: 15, sophomore  
> monty: 15, sophomore  
> miller: 16, junior  
> raven: 16, junior  
> clarke: 17, junior  
> bellamy: 17, junior  
> murphy: 17, junior

The ride home after Bellamy is finished with soccer practice is silent, as is expected when you’re in a car with someone you hardly know. Especially when that someone is a brooding teenage boy. Octavia asks a few questions in an attempt to get Murphy talking, but ultimately gives up when she’s met with vague one-word responses.

Bellamy swings the front door to their house open, tossing his backpack on the ground by the coffee table. He calls out to nothing in particular. “We’re home!” A moment later, Aurora steps out of the kitchen, mixing bowl in hand, serene expression on her face.

“Hi, honey. How was school?” Murphy shifts his weight uncomfortably, still standing by the front door with his small suitcase full of clothes at his feet. Aurora finally notices him and sets the mixing bowl down, wiping her hands off on her apron, and extends a hand to him. “You must be John.” Bellamy flicks his eyes to Murphy’s face, expecting a reaction. “I’m Aurora, Bellamy and Octavia’s mom.”

Murphy hesitates for a moment but she gives him a genuine smile and he relaxes a bit as he shakes her outstretched hand, albeit awkwardly. “It’s Murphy, actually. Thanks for letting me stay here, I don’t…” He trails off, then rubs the back of his neck. “You have a nice house.” He gives a crooked smile; his attempt at cordial, Bellamy thinks.

“Why, thank you, Murphy.” Aurora beams, then turns to Bellamy. “Bell, will you show Murphy to the spare room? Caleb moved his office supplies out of there so it should finally be habitable.” She retreats to the kitchen and Octavia follows her, speaking excitedly about a cute boy on the football team named Lincoln.

Murphy reaches for his suitcase but Bellamy picks it up first. He notices Murphy’s cheeks are tinged pink. “You don’t have to—”

Bellamy cuts him off. “Come on, the room is upstairs.” He gestures to the staircase with his head, indicating Murphy should follow. When they arrive at the doorway, Bellamy sets the bag on the floor and makes a sweeping motion with his arm. There’s a full-size bed, a dresser, and a small nightstand with a lamp tucked into the corner. “Sorry it’s not much. If we had known you’d be staying with us I’m sure we would have prepared a little more.”

Murphy regards him incredulously, merely shrugging when he realizes that Bellamy isn’t joking. “Beats the group home.” Bellamy bites his lip, embarrassed, and reminds himself to try not to say anything else too stupid. He fails.

“Do you need any help unpacking or anything?” He realizes just how fucking _weird_ that sounds and grimaces when Murphy glances at his single bag and then gives Bellamy a look that can only be described as ‘mild disdain.’

“I think I’ll manage.”

Bellamy opens his mouth, probably to dig himself deeper into a hole of awkwardness, but he’s saved from further humiliation by his mother calling from the kitchen. “Boys! Dinner will be ready soon!” Bellamy offers a quick thank-you to whatever faceless entity took pity on him as he and Murphy wordlessly make their way downstairs.

***

Dinner with Murphy is cringeworthy at best and painfully uncomfortable at worst. Despite Aurora and Octavia’s repeated efforts to involve him in the conversation, Murphy seems hell-bent on speaking (and eating, Bellamy notices) as little as possible throughout the ordeal. Caleb’s ominous reticence doesn’t exactly help matters.

After fifteen minutes of mumbled answers and half-hearted hums of affirmation, the Blakes learn Murphy is seventeen, originally from Southern California, and that he moved to Oklahoma shortly after being placed in foster care, but has been shuffled around different cities for the past few years. When prompted about his parents, however, Murphy completely shuts down, simply staring at his barely-touched plate of food for a quiet eternity. Bellamy is surprised that he feels more concerned about Murphy’s sudden malaise than annoyed at his refusal (or, perhaps, _inability_ ) to interact properly.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Caleb’s inherently patronizing voice penetrates Bellamy’s thoughts, much to his chagrin. “You probably haven’t been fed very well for some time, looks like you’re mostly skin and bones. All the more reason to eat up, son.”

Murphy bristles, cocking his head at the pastor. “I’ve been in _foster care_ , not juvie.” Caleb raises his eyebrows. Bellamy and Octavia almost never talk back to the pastor, much less _correct_ him. Murphy narrows his eyes with a sneer, and there’s a fire in his features that makes Bellamy’s stomach flip in a…not-unpleasant way. “And, don’t call me that. I’m nobody’s son.” The tension that follows Murphy’s bitter statement is so suffocating Bellamy thinks they all might actually choke to death before the silence is broken.

“Bell, honey, why don’t you and Octavia take Murphy down to the Railyard? I’m sure he’d love to see it.” Aurora smiles comfortingly before convincing Caleb to assist her in clearing the table. Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief as they leave the dining room, grateful for his mother’s patient composure.

Octavia jumps to her feet, wrapping her arms endearingly around her brother’s neck. “Oh, the Railyard?! Bell, can we get ice cream? Pleeeeeeease?”

Bellamy feigns excessive deliberation before he agrees with a hearty chuckle. “Sure thing, O.” 

She squeals happily and grabs Murphy’s hand without warning, dragging him from his chair. He lets out a noise not unlike a squawk, which has the siblings stifling laughter and avoiding Murphy’s petulant scowl. “Both of you shut the hell up.” He huffs and crosses his arms, and Bellamy doesn’t mention the way Murphy’s eyes light up when he suppresses a smile.

***

In the car, Murphy’s curiosity wins out against his stubbornness. “So, Miller and Monty…are they actually dating or are they just obliviously pining for each other?”

“It’s painfully obvious, isn’t it?” Bellamy laughs. “They’re not dating yet; Miller has been talking about making a move for weeks now, but he keeps chickening out.”

Murphy nods like he’s considering this information. “And Clarke and Raven? They’re definitely a thing, right?”

Octavia spins around in the passenger seat. “That’s a pretty funny story, actually. Raven dated this douchebag, Finn, for like two years until she found out he was cheating on her with Clarke. But Clarke didn’t know he had a girlfriend, and when Raven explained what was going on, they both dumped his ass and eventually realized that they were more interested in each other. Love is weird.”

“What about Jasper?”

“He’s asexual.” Bellamy grins fondly. “I actually _learned_ something when Jasper came out to us. That was a refreshing experience.”

Murphy hums, seemingly satisfied, and after a few minutes he changes the topic. “So…what even is the Railyard? Is that, like, a literal name or…?”

Octavia props her feet on the dashboard, despite Bellamy’s disapproving glare, and waves an indifferent hand in the air. “It’s this vaguely metropolitan strip downtown dedicated to entertainment and tourist-y type stuff. There’s a lot of bars, some little niche restaurants, an outdoor theater. They’re even putting in an ice rink this winter. They named it the Railyard 'cuz it was built so close to the abandoned train station. It’s the only interesting part about Moore, really, but that doesn’t exactly say much.” She shrugs. “You said you’re from SoCal, right? Which city?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Seriously??” Octavia’s eyes widen immensely. “There’s like, over a million people in L.A.!”

“More like four million.” Murphy cocks an eyebrow when Octavia throws her head back, groaning dramatically.

“Bell, I wanna go to California! It’s so boring here.”

Bellamy frowns at his sister. “No way. Cities that big are dangerous. All kinds of weirdos live there.” He glances in the rearview mirror when Murphy clears his throat pointedly and tries to backtrack. “No offense. You’re different, obviously.”

“Right. Well at least in California we didn’t all sound like hicks.”

“Excuse me?” Bellamy puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be taken aback. “Most of us don’t even have accents!”

Murphy smirks. “Oh please, all I hear coming out of your mouth is twang and drawl and honestly it’s starting to give me a headache.”

Bellamy ignores Octavia’s raucous giggling and purses his lips. “You only think we sound weird because you talk like a Valley Girl.” He can’t help the grin that eclipses his face when he hears Murphy gasp.

“You take that back!” Murphy’s anger prompts another round of laughter from Octavia as Bellamy parks his Jeep.

As soon as they pile out of the car, Octavia links arms with both boys, happily dragging them towards the Ice Cream Shoppe as Murphy shouts profanities about being manhandled. Bellamy can’t even bring himself to worry about the scene they’re inevitably causing, or the scornful looks being thrown their way.

***

After ordering, Murphy drops himself onto a sun-faded bench between Octavia and Bellamy, precariously balancing a mountain of chocolate ice cream on top of a tiny sugar cone. Bellamy scowls at the sight. “This place has some of the most interesting, original flavors and yet you choose chocolate. Not to mention _three scoops_.” Murphy drags his tongue around the ice cream and smacks his lips. Bellamy forces himself to tear his eyes away and swallows thickly, choosing instead to focus intently on his own scoop of Blueberry-Lavender.

“First of all, Blake, chocolate is the only flavor worth my time so fuck you.” Murphy pauses to cut his eyes towards Bellamy with a devilish grin. “And second, you need to learn to live a little. Who needs just one scoop of ice cream when you can eat enough to regret all your life choices?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. Just as he’s about to fire back with what he can only hope is a witty response, a voice startles the trio. “John?” The three teens turn to face an attractive, Aryan-esque man with an athletic build and a jawline strong enough to _almost_ make Bellamy jealous. He’s sporting a University of Oklahoma hoodie that appears to have been meticulously designed to give off a vintage vibe, with wear and tear in all the right places.

Murphy freezes for a only a fraction of a second when they make eye contact, but it’s enough to put Bellamy on edge. “Chad?” He stirs restlessly on the bench, and Bellamy suddenly becomes very aware that Murphy’s thigh is pressed flush against his own. He chalks it up to Murphy’s obvious discomfort and decides not to shy away. “What are you doing here? I thought you were transferring to Norman for college.”

The guy— _Chad_ , Bellamy reminds himself—drags his eyes deliberately over Murphy’s frame, lingering a little too long on his lips, and clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m studying atmospheric and geographic science at the University. The OU School of Meteorology is top in the country, actually.” He puffs his chest in an (entirely unnecessary) display of…masculinity, or whatever. Bellamy tries not to scoff. “I just happened to be visiting some family here this week. Imagine my surprise when I caught sight of the notorious John Murphy. What are the odds?” He flashes an award-winning smile, complete with a set of _stupidly_ perfect teeth, and gestures to Murphy’s company. “Gonna introduce me to your friends?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Chad, this is Octavia and Bellamy. I’m, uh…living with them now.”

Bellamy offers a stiff nod while Octavia smiles brightly on Murphy’s other side, ever the social butterfly. “Nice to meet you!”

“Likewise.” Chad regards the siblings with an uninterested stare before turning his smug expression back to Murphy. “It was really nice to see you, John. If you’re ever in Norman, give me a call and we can do some catching up, maybe go to one of those invite-only clubs.” He leans in close to Murphy like he’s telling him the most interesting secret in the world, and winks. “I could get you in _easy_.”

“For sure. See you around.”

As soon as Chad departs, Murphy visibly relaxes. Bellamy nudges him with his knee. “Who was that?”

Murphy scowls at his melting ice cream like it insulted him and runs a hand through his hair. “Ex-boyfriend. We dated when I was living in Oklahoma City, but that was almost two years ago.”

Bellamy attempts to appear less shocked than he feels. “Wait, you dated him when you were _fifteen_? Jesus, Murphy, the dude looks like he’s twenty.”

Crimson creeps into Murphy’s pale complexion. “Something like that.”

“Murphy. How old is he?” Bellamy isn’t sure he even wants to hear the answer.

Murphy catches his lower lip between his teeth, then releases it with a sigh. “Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two?! You dated someone five years older than you when you were fifteen? Are you _kidding_ me?” Murphy only shrugs in response and Bellamy huffs, exasperated. “How was he even okay with that?”

“He thought I was seventeen at the time. Doesn’t matter, I broke up with him anyway. I can’t stand guys that are so full of themselves. I mean, he _insisted_ on calling me John, said that Murphy was just too 'young-sounding' for him. Like, who does that?” Murphy shakes his head at the memory. “Alpha male isn’t exactly my type.”

Octavia breaks into a sly grin. “So, what _is_ your type, Murph? Tall, dark, and handsome?” She giggles when Murphy’s cheeks flush again. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re just a walking cliché.”

“You’re one to talk, Ms. Token Straight Friend.” Murphy frowns when Octavia claps a hand over her mouth, eyes bright with amusement. “What? What the hell is so funny?”

She points to an equally confused Bellamy and doubles over, laughing. “Wrong sibling, Murph. I’m pansexual.”

Everything finally clicks in his head as Murphy’s eyes go wide, realizing his mistake a little too late. Bellamy blinks several times. “You…you thought I was gay?”

“No!” Murphy splays his hands out in front of him defensively. “I mean, not necessarily. I just…didn’t think you were straight is all.” He at least has the consideration to look sheepish about it.

“Oh, I-I’m not…you know. N-not that there’s anything wrong with that! I mean most of my friends are—” Bellamy’s awkward clarification is cut off when Murphy bumps against his shoulder.

“Chill out, Blake. Obviously you’re not a bigot.” He eyes Bellamy somewhat apprehensively, ducking his head. “It was my bad for assuming.”

Before Bellamy can piece his scattered thoughts together, Octavia throws an arm around Murphy’s shoulder with a cheeky smile. “Sexuality misconceptions aside, can we all just take a second to appreciate the fact that Murphy actually dated a guy name _Chad_?”

Murphy groans. “Oh my _god_. Like you’ve never made a bad decision before.”

Octavia cackles wickedly. “Oh, _Chad_! You’re so smart and buff! Seduce me with your frat-boy charm!” Bellamy gapes at his sister, horrified, as Murphy turns beet red for presumably the hundredth time.

“That’s it!” Murphy grabs wildly for the cell phone sitting on Octavia’s lap and jumps on the bench, holding it high in the air out of her reach. She squeals, pulling at his arm, but he remains undeterred as he scrolls through her contacts. “Now, who was that boy you were fawning over earlier, hmm?”

When she realizes his devious plan, Octavia stops, suddenly serious. “Murphy, if you don’t give me my phone back, _I swear_ —”

“Aha! Lincoln Woods.” He raises his eyebrows cockily. “Oh, look! His name has a little heart next to it, isn’t that cute?”

“Murphy! Don’t you dare!”

  Murphy talks as he types out a text. “Hey there, stud…winky emoji…your muscles looked extra good today in your football uniform…heart-eye emoji…hugs and smooches, ‘Tavia. Aaaaand, send.” He taps the screen, smirking at Octavia’s stunned expression, and tosses the phone back to her. “You’ll thank me someday.”

Bellamy watches with a warm feeling in his chest and quiet amusement as his sister screeches, swatting helplessly at Murphy’s side, and effortlessly accepts this extraordinary whirlwind of a boy into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of the characters actually have a southern accent, with the exception of a slight one from Caleb, but Murphy just likes to push Bellamy's buttons
> 
> fun fact! the railyard is an actual place in my hometown which is pretty much exactly like Octavia described. the ice cream shoppe is fictional, however, and spelled that way because it's pretentious and overpriced
> 
> also, i know Octavia probably has a better vocabulary than an average freshman in high school. that is because Bellamy used to read to her all the time, like the nerd he is
> 
> ps-yes, all your faves are lgbtqpia+ you're welcome


	3. I Got Burn Holes in My Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i switched around a couple chapter titles, so now _this_ one is a line from Chance the Rapper's "Cocoa Butter Kisses"
> 
> go listen to it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw in this chapter for slight internalized homophobia, in case that's a thing that bothers anyone

Bellamy is sprawled on Murphy’s bed after a long September Saturday of showing his new stepbrother around town with Octavia, watching him unpack. He toys distractedly with the few items Murphy has set out on the nightstand: a black eyeliner pencil, a few pieces of watermelon bubblegum, a pack of cigarettes. “Can I ask you a question?”

Murphy looks up from his spot on the floor next to his suitcase, clothes already strewn about like a storm had blown through. Which, Bellamy thinks, is kind of true. “I guess.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “How come you thought I was gay? I mean, I’m just curious why you got that impression.” Murphy watches him for several silent moments with that unblinking, unreadable gaze of his, before sliding his eyes back down to his meager pile of belongings.

“I’ve never had a straight guy look at me as hard as you did when I showed up to class.”

Bellamy curses internally, recalling the indisputable way he had been staring at Murphy the morning prior. In his defense, though, _everyone_ was staring at Murphy. “Yeah, well, you certainly know how to make an entrance.”

“So I’ve been told.” Murphy pops his bubblegum, then leans back on his hands, considering. “Can I ask _you_ a question?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Sure.”

Murphy stands, moving to the dresser to organize his clothes as they speak. “Obviously Caleb isn’t your biological father, but is he Octavia’s?”

“What do you mean, ‘obviously’?”

Murphy scoffs. “Come on. Perfect, golden-brown skin and curls like yours don’t just happen magically; that had to come from somewhere.” Bellamy hopes his “perfect, golden-brown skin” is hiding the blush that he can definitely feel gracing his cheeks. He burrows further into the pillow just in case.

“Yeah, he’s Octavia’s dad. My father was Filipino. He passed away when I was very young, though. I don’t remember a whole lot about him.” Bellamy is expecting the usual awkward apologies or pitying looks he normally receives after he tells people about his father, but Murphy only nods and goes back to stuffing clothes haphazardly into the top dresser drawer. Bellamy wonders about Murphy’s parents. “What about you?”

“Nope, Caleb’s not my father either.” He smirks as Bellamy rolls his eyes, fighting a grin.

“Smartass. I meant _your_ parents.”

Murphy stays quiet for a moment before answering. “My dad is dead too, but it happened when I was eight.”

Bellamy waits for an explanation that never comes. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but he’s willing to take that chance. “What about your mom?” Murphy freezes halfway through folding a pair of skinny jeans and turns his head just enough to talk over his shoulder.

“I don’t have a mother.”

The icy tone of Murphy’s voice makes Bellamy regret prying, but before he can think of anything to say, his stepbrother is already changing the subject. “So does he know about Octavia’s sexuality?”

Bellamy barely manages to follow the rapidly shifting conversation. “Caleb? No, the only people that know are just me and our friends. And you, now. I’m sure that our mom wouldn’t care, but Caleb’s a little—”

“Fire and brimstone?” Murphy gives Bellamy a vaguely empathetic look when he nods at the accurate description. “Yeah, I figured as much. I’ll keep mine on the down-low, then.”

Guilt unfurls inside Bellamy. “I’m sorry. You guys shouldn’t have to hide who you are, that isn’t right.”

Murphy leans back against the dresser, shrugs. “You get used to it. Do I want to claim my sexuality just as much as any straight person? Hold hands in public without subjecting myself to slurs and physical harm? Sure. But it’s not a survivor’s move.” He crosses the room and collapses on the mattress next to Bellamy. “And if there’s one thing the world has taught me, it’s how to survive.”

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

“Of course it does, but there are plenty of other things for me to be angry about. I try to distribute my resentment evenly.” Bellamy laughs at that, earning a smile from Murphy. “In all honesty, though, it’s easier to handle if you surround yourself with the right people.” Bellamy hopes he’s the right people. He wants to be.

He focuses his attention somewhere across the room, but directs his words at Murphy with more gravity. “For what it’s worth, you can always be yourself around me, okay?” He turns his head just in time to see Murphy’s eyelids flutter faintly.

“Okay.”

***

The first few days of adjustment turn into weeks of comfortable familiarity turn into months of seamless kinship and soon Bellamy starts to question how he ever lived his life without his cocky, melodramatic, exhilarating stepbrother. He spends his days either in Murphy’s immediate presence, or at least within close proximity, and his evenings are preoccupied with trying to string together pieces of the other boy’s past in an attempt to learn everything he can about him. John Murphy is an enigma, but Bellamy has always had an affinity for puzzles.

They frequently linger in each other’s rooms well into the early morning hours, studying or joking or talking or simply existing together. Bellamy tries and fails on multiple occasions to define their bond—which goes so far beyond _friend_ —but eventually settles for something along the blurred lines of confidante, kindred spirit, and soulmate of sorts.

Murphy tells Bellamy of his only friends from the foster home, Mbege and Emori. He talks about their escapades and how the three of them were inseparable until the other two were eventually adopted; Murphy, on the other hand, was often too much to handle and would end up back in the group home time and time again, endless excuses spilling past the lips of his foster families about how he _just wasn’t the right fit_.

Very occasionally, he’ll share memories of his dad, Alex Murphy, but never about what happened to him, and _never_ about his mother. Bellamy only listens intently when this happens, not daring to break the hesitant trickle of words, observing with gentle fondness as Murphy recalls a cherished time of implied _before_.

Bellamy takes these precious bits of truth and trust and seals them in his mind with a heavy heart, vowing to give the boy many more moments that he can treasure for years to come.

In trade, Bellamy tells Murphy what little he remembers of his own father: his unparalleled love for his family, the way his eyes lit up every time Aurora entered the room or Bellamy wrapped his arms around him; his passion for all things art, singing or cooking or painting or playing guitar; his thick, Filipino accent, which Bellamy catches himself slipping into every now and then when emotions run high.

Oh, how badly he wishes Murphy could have met him.

Murphy stays silent for these exchanges as well, with the exception of melancholic huffs of laughter or quiet, contented hums. When it all becomes too much for him, Bellamy switches, reads for Murphy from old, tattered books with dog-eared pages and threadbare spines. He recounts his favorite tales and myths and legends of gods, adventures, and all kinds of creatures practically by heart, as Murphy watches with shameless veneration.

And, well. Nobody’s ever looked at Bellamy quite like that.

If asked, Bellamy wouldn’t be able to pinpoint just when this boy became so important to him, but he can’t deny now that it feels a little bit like finding something he hadn’t even realized was missing.

***

It’s an unusually cold Friday in the middle of February and Bellamy’s day has been shit.

First, on the way to school, a car following too closely behind him hit a patch of unexpected ice and rear-ended his Jeep. Annoying, but nothing he can’t handle.

Then, the English paper he spent three weeks working on, hours of research and writing and suffering, was handed back to him by an unsympathetic Ms. Novak with a large, red “F” in the corner; a 57%. And that’s. Whatever.

Finally, he overheard some of his soccer teammates gossiping in the hall about Lincoln Woods’ new “plaything”—his _sister_ for god’s sake—and was formally reprimanded by the coach for shoving them up against the lockers in a sudden burst of rage. Which is complete _garbage_ , if you ask him.

And now…

“Oh my god, guys, _look_.” Clarke points to the entrance of the cafeteria where Murphy is just arriving. His hair is a little more mussed than normal and he seems to be in the midst of an unusually friendly conversation with a boy who’s nearly a foot taller than him. Bellamy recognizes the devilish glint in his eye.

Raven squints. “Is that Pascal? What the hell does Mr. All-Star Quarterback want with _Murphy_?”

Clarke shrugs. “Maybe he’s trying to recruit him for next season?”

“As what? A distraction to the other team?” Miller snorts. “I guess if they were all too busy staring at the twink then we’d have a better chance at scoring. Not a bad idea, actually.”

Bellamy jabs his best friend with an elbow. “Not everyone is as gay as you, Miller.”

“Oh come on, even the straightest dude would be surprised to see a guy in a football uniform _and_ eyeliner.”

“Fair enough.” Bellamy nods, eyeing the interaction with more curiosity than is probably warranted. He notices how Murphy deliberately angles his body in a flattering way, and adopts a fake laugh to placate Pascal. Bellamy thinks he resembles a peacock with its feathers on display. The quarterback soon departs, but not without giving the other boy a discreet once-over. Murphy makes his way to their table with a pleased grin.

“‘Sup, losers?” He drops down next to Bellamy and casually steals a fry off his tray.

Bellamy scowls. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Hmm?”

Miller gestures in Pascal’s general direction with his head. “What was that about?”

Murphy sighs. “You sure are a nosy bunch, aren’t you?” Everyone at the table nods collectively. “Well, if you must know, he was thanking me.”

Bellamy cocks an eyebrow. “For what, exactly?”

“I helped him out with an…oral presentation of sorts.”

The teens stare blankly at Murphy’s smug expression until the insinuation dawns on them, one by one. Raven and Clarke wear matching looks of shock and disgust while Miller side-fives Murphy, laughing. Bellamy rolls his eyes, relieved that the upperclass lunch period starts sooner than his sister’s.

“But you haven’t gone out after school at all this week; when could you have possibly had time for that?” Bellamy clenches his jaw as he regards the quarterback from across the lunchroom. He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels so goddamn _irritated_.

“Oh, we just met up in the locker room after gym. Those showers are remarkably private.”

Bellamy is too busy stewing in his frustration to respond, but thankfully Miller is quicker to react. “If you really wanna be subtle, try a mirror next time. You have sex hair.” Murphy’s hand instinctively flies up to smooth his unruly locks as he levels Miller with a middle finger and a halfhearted glare.

Raven frowns. “I thought Pascal was straight. Isn’t he dating the captain of the cheerleading team?”

Clarke snaps her fingers. “Oh yeah! Trina, right?”

Murphy huffs out a laugh. “He didn’t seem so straight with his dick down my throat.”

“Well, Prince Charming, you seem to be pretty into him, if your giggling and eyelash-batting is any indication.” Miller shoves him in the shoulder playfully and exaggerates an impression of the aforementioned flirting, making Murphy blush extensively. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”

He ducks his head with a smile, uncharacteristically bashful. “Well, clearly he’s still in the closet, but if he wants to experiment, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

The subject is dropped when Octavia, Monty, and Jasper arrive at the table, but Bellamy is unable to shake the anger that simmers under his skin for the rest of lunch.

***

After school, Murphy, Lincoln, Octavia, and Bellamy are headed towards his awaiting Jeep when he spots a Wild Pack of Bros™ hanging in the parking lot nearby, Pascal among them. He feels resentment pulsing through his veins like poison.

Murphy stops in his tracks. “Hey, you three go on ahead to the car. Pascal left his wallet in the locker room earlier, I’m just gonna drop it off real quick.” Bellamy wants to tell him how much he should definitely _not_ do that, but Murphy is already en route to the group of boys before his mouth can catch up with his mind.

Bellamy hesitates, and Octavia notices. She rolls her eyes, slinging an arm around Lincoln’s waist. “Go with him, Bell. You know you want to. We’ll wait in the car.” He purses his lips, unamused, but tosses his keys to Lincoln anyway, tagging along behind his step brother. They aren’t even fifteen feet away before some of the guys start casting curious glances in their direction.

“Pascal.” Murphy shuffles impatiently behind the quarterback, who appears to be deliberately ignoring him. He repeats himself, a little louder. “Pascal. _Hey_.”

He barely brushes the sleeve of Pascal’s jacket to get his attention before the other boy violently jerks his arm back, seemingly disgusted. “What do you want?”

Murphy scoffs, flinging the wallet at his chest. “You dropped this. You’re welcome, asshole.” He turns to Bellamy, shaking his head. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Whatever, homo.” Murphy pauses, and Bellamy watches him close his eyes and let out a shuddering breath as Pascal’s friends cackle and high-five each other in the background.

It’s an unusually cold Friday in the middle of February when Bellamy throws his first punch.

He experiences several distinct sensations within quick succession of each other: shock, when he realizes that he’s the reason Pascal is cradling his jaw, shouting colorful strings of swears; satisfaction, when Murphy looks at him with wide eyes and a smile so bright it could rival the sun; pain, when a fist connects with his own face; and finally, acceptance, as his world fades to black.

Bellamy wakes in his own bed, disoriented. His nose is throbbing, it’s pitch black outside, and he has no idea how long he’s been asleep. It could be 2052 for all he knows. He sits up just in time for an obnoxious amount of light to flood into his room when Murphy opens the door. He slips inside and closes it quickly, opting for a bedside lamp as his source of light, which Bellamy is grateful for. “Hey there, sleeping beauty.”

He groans, delicately prodding at the tender skin. “What the hell happened earlier?”

Murphy situates himself on the mattress, surveying the damage to Bellamy’s face. “You punched Pascal when he called me a homo, but he returned the sentiment twofold and knocked you out. Thankfully, Lincoln was able to get you in the Jeep and drive us home.”

“What did you tell mom?”

“We just used the excuse that your teammates were talking shit about Octavia. She and Caleb seemed to buy it.” Murphy lifts a cool cloth to Bellamy’s nose, and he hisses at the unwelcome sting. “Sorry. On the plus side, the asshole didn’t manage to break your nose, but it is bruised pretty badly. Based on personal experience, it’s gonna be sore for at least a week.” He lets his hand drop between them, studying Bellamy with a pensive countenance, and swallows. Bellamy watches the way his throat rolls with the action, a little too dazed to be concerned about decorum. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

Everything in Bellamy’s mind and body cries out in opposition, _oh, but I did_. He settles for a healthy dose of snark to ease the tension, never one to take things seriously enough. “My face begs to differ.” Murphy chuckles softly and Bellamy feels satisfied all over again.

“Don’t get me wrong, Blake, you have no idea how much I appreciate it.” He glances down at where he’s pulling at a loose thread on the cloth. “But…you don’t have to walk the warpath for me. I’m not worth the risk.”

“What?” Bellamy frowns, pitching forward slightly, and grips Murphy’s upper arm to demonstrate his sincerity. “Murphy, of _course_ you are.”

Murphy looks back up at him with suspiciously bright eyes, and Bellamy’s lungs stop working. The interaction is simultaneously too intimate and not nearly intimate enough, and Bellamy doesn’t know what to do with that. Murphy opens his mouth and closes it again, turns his head away, clears his throat instead. “Pascal texted me.” Bellamy withdraws his hand from Murphy’s arm with a passive grunt, the significance of the moment dissipating rapidly. “He told me he was sorry for how he reacted, that he just panicked since he’s not out to his friends and doesn’t think they’d understand. He said he’s also sorry about your face, but that you kinda deserved it.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Well, I guess you two can continue your secret rendezvous or fling or…whatever you wanna call it.”

“Idiot.” Murphy pins him with a playful smirk. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

“Really?” Bellamy tries and fails not to gawk at his stepbrother as Murphy nods in response with a coy smile. “But I thought you liked him?”

“You really think I’d want anything to do with him after he hurt you?”

Bellamy blinks dumbly for a moment, shocked. “Murphy, that…that really means a lot to me. Thank you.” He nudges Murphy with his foot. “You deserve better than that douche anyway.”

“If you say so.” Murphy laughs and a comfortable silence falls between them for a few seconds before he heads to the door. “See you tomorrow, Bellamy.” When he leaves, Bellamy sinks down on the mattress, smiling to himself. Maybe getting punched in the face isn’t as bad as he originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos to Lincoln, the silent, mysterious hero
> 
> ps. i know next to nothing about foster care, etc. so sorry if any of that is unrealistic


	4. Sunday Best and Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title is a line from Brand New's "Soco Amaretto Lime" and i highly recommend checking out the "emocapella" version because it just _fits_ these angsty boys so well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is chock-full of gay angst, enjoy

“ _Bellamy Blake, please report to the principal’s office immediately. Bellamy Blake to the principal’s office._ ”

Bellamy feels his face burn red as the entire class turns to him with curious stares; even Dr. Griffin has an eyebrow raised. He wants to be swallowed by the floor.

Miller chuckles. “How much you wanna bet this has got something to do with Murphy?”

“If I took that bet I’d surely lose.” He rolls his eyes as he stands, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Dr. Griffin gives him an understanding grin. “Good luck, Bellamy.”

He returns a tight-lipped smile as he slips out the door, knowing she'll pry the details from Clarke later that night.

When he reaches Kane’s office, Bellamy hovers awkwardly at the threshold, waiting to be noticed. Kane glances up from his paperwork and motions to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Bellamy, please, have a seat.” Bellamy swallows nervously, even though he’s almost certain he’s not in any trouble. He eases into the chair with an unnecessary amount of hesitation, and Kane notices. “Relax, son. This isn’t about you.”

Which, _okay_ , but that doesn’t exactly make him feel any better. “Did Murphy get caught smoking behind the bleachers again?” Bellamy _told_ him to be more careful.

“What?” Kane’s perplexed stare is answer enough on that front.

“Uh, nothing. Is this about Murphy?”

Kane emits a world-weary sigh, and Bellamy figures he must have supposed right. “Here’s the thing, Bellamy: Mr. Murphy has been performing incredibly well since he transferred to St. John’s. He’s got a great group of friends, he’s passing almost all of his classes, and he’s only been in detention fifteen times, which, believe it or not, is a huge improvement, judging by the records we received from his previous schools.”

“Um. Okay? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Well, I have reason to believe that his positive change in behavior has quite a bit to do with you.”

Bellamy frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a good influence on him, Bellamy.” Kane smiles a warm, crinkly sort of smile. “He looks up to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Bellamy shakes his head, ever modest.

“I’m not the only one who has noticed. Dr. Griffin feels the same way, among others.”

“Even if that’s true, why am I here?”

Kane sighs again, appearing conflicted. “Apparently Mr. Murphy hasn’t shown up to class since homeroom. I know it’s only fourth period, but he hasn’t been skipping classes for several weeks now and I’m curious as to what could have caused this relapse.” He pauses, allows the information to sink in. “I was hoping I could convince you to look for him. If you are able to find him, perhaps he would talk to you about it.”

“So…you want me to search for Murphy, like, right now?”

“If you don’t have anything too important in your upcoming classes, yes.”

Bellamy tries to hide just how excited he is to be _skipping class_ , even if it’s technically sanctioned. He clears his throat. “Sure, I guess I can do that.”

Kane smiles fondly, because he’s not an idiot. “Thank you, Bellamy. I appreciate it.” Bellamy nods quickly, and practically sprints out of the office, buzzing with enthusiasm.

***

Bellamy checks every plausible space in and around the school that he thinks Murphy could possibly be hiding: library, bathrooms, football field, supply closets, auditorium, locker rooms (reluctantly)—he even manages to investigate the roof, thanks to his friendship with one of the members of the janitorial staff—all to no avail.

He’s in the process of double-checking underneath the bleachers, _just in case_ , when he recalls the small chapel that sits adjacent to the football field. Bellamy chuckles to himself at the thought. Murphy couldn’t possibly be hanging out in the church…could he?

With a huff, Bellamy heaves open the ornate redwood doors and slips inside. He takes a few steps down the center aisle, but the chapel remains eerily quiet. Bellamy feels foolish looking here; it’s likely the last place Murphy would want to be. He’s about to head back to the doors when his attention is drawn to a small cloud of smoke rising from seemingly nowhere near the front of the church.

Bellamy makes his way down the aisle and spots Murphy sprawled out on a pew, cigarette dangling from his lips, bottle of wine between his legs, headphones blasting in his ears. Bellamy frowns, snatching the cigarette from Murphy’s mouth and crushing it under the heel of his shoe. Murphy’s eyes fly open, but he settles when he sees Bellamy standing above him instead of Kane or the pastor. He smirks, removing a single earbud. “Care to join me?”

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Aren’t you?”

Bellamy is ready to get angry, to defend himself (after all he’s the one wasting _his_ time searching for the punk), but there’s no hint of malice in Murphy’s voice. He seems genuinely curious. Bellamy unfolds his arms and sighs, defeated. “Kane sent me to look for you since you were absent after homeroom. Didn’t think I’d find you here, to be honest. Have a sudden change of faith or something?”

“Faith? Nah, I've just got nothing better to do.” The corner of Murphy’s mouth curls up. “The offer still stands, by the way.”

“Huh?”

Murphy runs his hand slowly up and down the neck of the bottle that’s still sitting in his lap, circles his thumb around the brim. “I asked if you wanted to join me.” His voice is smooth and warm like the wine he’s been drinking. Bellamy swallows hard and ignores the persistent flutter in his chest.

“I, uh…I’ve never had alcohol before.” Bellamy blushes, shifting his gaze to the floor so that he doesn’t have to see the smirk he knows Murphy is giving him.

Murphy sits up fully, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you serious? Well, then get your ass over here, Blake.”

The thought of someone finding him drinking with Murphy makes Bellamy anxious. He looks around the church, already paranoid. “I dunno, Murphy, what if we get caught?”

Murphy rolls his eyes and grabs Bellamy’s hand, pulling him onto the pew so close that their legs brush. “How about this: if anyone sees us, I’ll say that I was acting alone and that you were just here trying to get me to go back to class. Which, technically, is what you were doing anyway.” He bumps his shoulder into Bellamy’s and passes him the wine. “No harm, no foul.”

Before he can talk himself out of it, Bellamy takes a gulp from the bottle and tries not to think too hard about how Murphy’s lips were just on the same spot moments ago. He grimaces at the bitterness and the way it burns his throat, but he forces himself to drink a little more before handing it back. “Ugh, it tastes like ass.”

Murphy barks out a laugh that nearly startles Bellamy. “Clearly you’ve never tasted ass before.” He takes a swig and lets his head loll back lazily.

“And you have?”

Murphy turns his head slightly, eyeing Bellamy, and licks his lips, punctuating the exchange with a wink. Bellamy’s eyebrows practically disappear behind his bangs and he feels his face get hot. He grabs the bottle from Murphy with false bravado and tips it back, swallowing as much as he can without dying. He wants—no, _needs_ to drown the butterflies that have come to life in his stomach.

“Atta boy, Blake.” Murphy chuckles and is full-on smiling now, which is a sight so beautiful it almost hurts. Bellamy is captivated, but he reminds himself that if you stare too long at the sun, you’ll go blind. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans back, running a hand through his curls. Bellamy can already feel the effects of the alcohol working through his system, slowing his movements, dulling his senses. But he can’t deny the pleasant numbness in his mind and the alluring way his lips tingle. They drink together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, passing the alcohol back and forth, lost in their own thoughts. A droplet of wine snakes down the neck of the bottle and over Bellamy’s forefinger, and he’s about to lick it off when Murphy catches his wrist. “Here, let me get that.”

With only a little hesitation, Murphy laps at the alcohol with his tongue, then closes his mouth around Bellamy’s finger and sucks lightly, peering up through long lashes. Bellamy’s stomach churns. This is wrong, _so_ wrong, and he’s even worse for letting it happen. He stands abruptly and stumbles backward, knocking the bottle to the floor in the process, which subsequently shatters. Murphy stands too and takes a step forward with wide eyes. “Bellamy? What’s wrong?” Bellamy presses the heels of his palms against his eyelids until he’s seeing stars. He can’t think straight. A pool of dark red spreads across the linoleum and Bellamy knows he should clean it up but with guilt and wine clashing inside him, he thinks he might be sick any second. Murphy places a hand on Bellamy’s arm gently, concerned. “Bellamy, are you—”

Bellamy flinches away from him. “D-don’t touch me.” It comes out harsher than he meant it to, and he doesn’t miss the way Murphy’s face hardens, arm snapping back to his own side as if scorched. His expression looks like he’d just been slapped. Bellamy’s heart aches at the image, despite himself. He wants nothing more than to make Murphy laugh again, to see that rare, beautiful smile on his face and know that _he's_ the reason for it. But that’s. Not right. His stomach flips again and he can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe_. Bellamy dashes towards the entrance of the chapel, barely making it outside before he vomits into a nearby bush. He heaves a few more times, spits, runs the back of his hand over his mouth.

With the alcohol out of his system and his head finally clearing, Bellamy realizes how much of an ass he just made of himself. He shakes his head and sighs as he jogs back inside, swearing that he’ll never drink again. Probably. Well, maybe. At least for a while.

Once inside, Bellamy surveys the church, noticing a significant lack of angsty teenage boy and an entirely missing puddle of wine on the floor. He mentally curses himself for his temporary lapse in decision-making skills and turns to continue his search for Murphy, but immediately bumps into Caleb. Bellamy hadn’t even heard him enter the room.

“Oh, sorry. Excuse me, pastor.” Bellamy moves to head for the door again, but Caleb’s strong hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

“I was looking for Murphy.” Bellamy really doesn’t feel like clarifying, but Caleb crosses his arms and he knows he doesn’t have a choice. “He didn’t show up for fourth period so Principal Kane sent me to find him. No luck yet, though.” He gives a halfhearted shrug, hoping his lie goes undetected.

Caleb shakes his head disdainfully. “That boy is a bad influence on you. If you don’t find him in the next five minutes, I want you back in class. We don’t need your grades to start slipping just because John won’t cooperate.”

Bellamy feels a sudden rush of defensiveness, and narrows his eyes with newfound confidence. “Would you stop calling him that? He doesn’t like it. That’s why he goes by Murphy.”

“‘John’ is the name his parents gave him, so it’s the name I will use for him.”

“But I just—”

“End of discussion. Now, go.”

“Yes, sir.” Reluctantly, Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying any more. He’s lucky enough that they didn’t get caught drinking together; he figures he shouldn’t push it. 

After another fifteen minutes of fruitless searching (he doesn’t _always_ follow directions, okay?), Bellamy gives up and makes it back to the school with just enough time to catch the end of his fifth period. As soon as he enters the building, though, he’s accosted by Kane. “Any luck locating your brother, Mr. Blake?”

Bellamy makes a face that he hopes comes across as sympathetic. “No sir, I even checked the chapel but I couldn’t find him. He probably left campus.”

Kane sighs deeply and smooths a hand over his (admittedly refined) beard. “I appreciate the effort, son. Now off to class with you.” Bellamy nods and makes his way down the hall.

***

At lunch, Bellamy stands in line with Miller, only half paying attention to his best friend relaying the information he missed in biology as he scans the cafeteria for any sign of the missing Murphy. “We spent most of the period going over genetics again, and practicing genotype and phenotype ratios using the Punnett square. Dr. Griffin said we’ll have a quiz on it next Thurs— dude are you even listening?” Miller waves his hand in front of Bellamy’s face, bringing him back to reality.

“Sorry. I was just looking for Murphy. I couldn’t find him earlier; I think he might have _left_ left.” Bellamy feels a little guilty for lying to Miller, but he can’t bring himself to talk about what happened in the church yet. He figures he should at least discuss it with Murphy first.

“Without a car? Where do you think he would go?”

Bellamy shrugs one shoulder. “I wouldn’t put it past him to walk home. Apparently he did a lot of that when he was younger.”

Miller nods in quiet understanding. When they were in elementary school, the two of them rode home together with David, Miller’s dad. After the first month of their fifth-grade year, they noticed the new girl in their class with the leg brace struggling to carry her backpack and cello home with her. David had offered her a ride and, to his relief, she had accepted gratefully. They drove for twenty minutes before they reached her house. He asked her if she normally got a ride from someone, but she had responded sheepishly that her parents usually couldn’t drive because they had been drinking. After that discovery, David made a few phone calls and managed to get ahold of a family friend who was willing to adopt the girl. Raven has been part of their close-knit group of friends ever since, and Sinclair is a better father than her real one ever was.

The boys make their way to their usual table, food in hand. Bellamy doesn’t even get the chance to sit down before Octavia is addressing him. “Hey, Bell, I saw Murphy a little bit ago and he said he was gonna walk home ‘cuz he didn’t feel well. So we don’t have to give him a ride later. And don’t forget that Mom and Dad are leaving town tonight for that weekend mission trip, because we’ll have to figure out what we’re gonna do for food.”

“U-um, alright. Thanks, O.” Bellamy can’t help but feel at fault; he doesn’t blame Murphy for not wanting to be around him after the way he overreacted earlier. He’ll definitely have to apologize when they get home.

The rest of the day passes in an uneventful blur. Bellamy finds himself constantly zoning out during his classes, playing the scene from the chapel in his head over and over. He can’t believe he actually let Murphy talk him into being so _reckless_ , but there’s something about his smile that makes Bellamy lose all sense of responsibility. He’s got an odd desire to please the boy, just so he can witness that little bit of radiance.

***

When Bellamy finally arrives at the house, he immediately heads to Murphy’s door, hoping he’s actually home, and knocks. After a few seconds with no response, Bellamy knocks a little louder, thinking maybe Murphy has his headphones in. He sighs and turns to head back down the hall, but stops short when he hears the lock unlatch behind him. Murphy stands in the threshold, rubbing at his eyes. His hair is sticking up haphazardly and Bellamy tries not to grin at the sight; Murphy might still be upset, after all. He yawns. “What’s up, my dude?”

“Did I wake you? My bad.” Bellamy didn’t think of that possibility.

“S’all good, homie. Wine just makes me tired.” Murphy stretches his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up slightly. Bellamy’s chest tightens when he notices the slope of Murphy’s hipbones peeking out above his sweatpants, slung low around his waist. “Did you need something?” Bellamy snaps his eyes back up to meet Murphy’s, swallowing.

“Oh! Yeah, I uh…I just wanted to apologize for earlier. You know, in the chapel.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “I um…I’m just not used to drinking and I guess I kind of overreacted and I feel really bad, I mean—” Murphy cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it, Blake. We were both tipsy; I don’t think we’re really responsible for the stupid shit we did, right? Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

Bellamy’s stomach drops. “R-right! Yeah, cool. Sounds good.” Murphy gives him a nod before closing the door again, presumably to sleep more. Bellamy mutters to himself quietly as he heads to his own room. “Right. Let’s just. Not talk about it. At all.” He sighs as he examines his reflection in his bedroom mirror, then scrubs his hands over his face. Murphy just gave him an easy out. It went well. He’s got nothing to worry about. So why does he feel disappointed? Bellamy grunts irritably as he removes his shirt. He decides to go to bed early, resolving that one day he’ll actually learn how to decipher his emotions. Just not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's nanowrimo everybody!!! in honour, i'm gonna try to update my fics way more often than i have been lately <3
> 
> fun fact: i kinda modeled Murph's way of speaking after how i talk irl that's why he uses lame words like homie


	5. White Trash Boys Listen to Their Headphones Blasting White Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title for this chapter comes from one of my all-time favorite songs, "Sleepwalking" by Modest Mouse
> 
> pls listen to it i would love you forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically shameless fluff because things might get a little angsty after this
> 
> also, sorry it's a little shorter than the others, but i had to split the chapter somewhere because otherwise it would have been _fucking massive_
> 
> enjoy!

The next morning, Bellamy wakes to the pleasant smells of breakfast foods permeating his room and glances at his clock, which reads 6:03 AM. His stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he went to sleep without eating the night before. He literally drags himself out of bed, only stopping to brush his teeth before making his way downstairs. Bellamy reaches the landing and pauses just outside the kitchen entrance when he hears a faint voice singing. He’s able to pick out a few verses over the sounds of sizzling bacon and clanking utensils.  

“ _Cigarettes and chocolate milk,  
These are just a couple of my cravings.  
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger, a little bit thicker,  
A little bit harmful for me_.”

The corners of Bellamy’s lips curl up. He hadn’t realized how good of a singer his stepbrother is since he consistently refuses to participate in choir. He supposes hymns aren’t really up Murphy’s alley.

“ _Go ahead, accuse me of just singin’ about places  
With scrappy boys’ faces,  
Have general run of the town.  
Playing with prodigal sons takes a lot of sentimental valiums_.”

He rounds the corner and leans against the entryway with a smirk. “I didn’t peg you for liking Rufus Wainwright.” He chuckles when Murphy spins on his heel and nearly drops the plate he’s been piling bacon on. His face is about as red as the tomato that’s diced on the cutting board and Bellamy thinks he looks pretty domestic with an oven mitt. “You never cease to amaze.”

Murphy smooths back his hair with his free hand and shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant despite his embarrassment. “Yeah, well, I’m an enigma. Unlike _some_ people.” He pauses and gives Bellamy a pointed look. “Besides, I thought you were asleep.”

Bellamy cocks an eyebrow, taken aback by the accusation. “Unlike some people? What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Murphy huffs. “Oh please, you’re Mr. Predictable! I bet you listen to gospel and Adele.” Bellamy screws up his expression in distaste. “Hey, tell me I’m wrong.” Murphy raises his hands in mock surrender, confident that he’s got the upper hand in the argument.

“Adele is more of a Clarke thing.” Bellamy turns to the sink to start on the dirty dishes. If Murphy’s gonna go to the trouble of making breakfast, he might as well help in some capacity. After all, he can’t cook to save his life. “I don’t really think you’d like my taste in music.”

“Okay, now I’m interested.” Murphy cracks a few eggs into a bowl and notices Bellamy’s hesitation. He nudges him with his elbow. “Try me, Blake.”

Bellamy sighs and fixes his gaze on a particularly dirty spot on the pan he’s scrubbing. “Well, I like rap, mostly.” His voice is quiet enough that he almost hopes Murphy won’t even hear him. “Childish Gambino, Kendrick Lamar, Future…but my favorite is Chance the Rapper.” He can feel a blush grace his cheeks when Murphy bends underneath him to look up at his face with a huge grin.

“Really? Now, _that_ is a surprise.” He straightens again and nods, contemplating as he whisks the eggs together. “I like ‘Cocoa Butter Kisses’ quite a lot.”

He laughs at that. Of course Murphy likes the one about cigarettes. But Bellamy is more than excited to finally talk about his favorite music with someone other than Miller. “Oh yeah. The whole Acid Rap album is incredible, but that’s easily one of the best songs. Vic Mensa’s verse is genius.” He feels his heartbeat quicken when Murphy starts reciting some of the words.

“ _Elevated, train, and the craziest thing, got me feeling like Lauryn Hill  
Miseducated, my dick delegated, rap Bill Bellamy_…  
Are you sure you don’t just like it because he says your name?” Murphy offers a teasing smile, chuckling when Bellamy’s only response is to blush harder. He didn’t think Murphy would know the lyrics _that_ well. He considers for a moment and decides that since he caught Murphy mid-song, it’s really only fair to return the sentiment. Bellamy takes a breath to steady his nerves, unaccustomed to singing by himself.

“ _Cigarettes on cigarettes, my mama think I stank  
I got burn holes in my hoodies, all my homies think it’s dank  
I miss my cocoa butter kisses, I miss my cocoa butter kisses_.”

Murphy regards him intently as he sings. When he finishes, he sees that Murphy is smiling genuinely, which causes his stomach to flip. “Are you serenading me, Bellamy?”

“Maybe.” He swallows, unsure what to say next. Thinking before speaking isn’t exactly his specialty. Murphy’s gaze lingers on his face, but drops momentarily when Bellamy bites his lower lip, confused as to why he is suddenly so lightheaded. He has the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch Murphy in some way, _any_ way. To weave his fingers through Murphy’s feather-soft hair or feel for the pulse at his throat, to see if Murphy’s heart rate matches his own: swift and stuttering. He suppresses the urge just in time for Octavia to burst into the kitchen. She throws her arms around each of their shoulders, far too energetic for how early it is.

“Did you guys make breakfast?!” She stands on her tiptoes and pulls them both in for strangled side-hugs.

Bellamy beams, happy for the distraction and for the opportunity to spend some time with the people he cares most about, minus the overbearing presence of his stepfather. He only wishes his mother could join them. “Well, Murphy did all the cooking. I just cleaned some dishes.”

Octavia stuffs her mouth with bacon while Murphy places three equally stunning omelettes around the table, along with a stack of pancakes and some freshly cut strawberries. “Good. ‘Cuz you suck at cooking.” She swallows and Murphy fails to stifle a laugh. Bellamy pushes him in the shoulder halfheartedly as they take their seats. “You’re the best, Murph!”

Murphy leans over to ruffle her hair. “Anything for you, Baby Blake.”

“Baby Blake?” Bellamy furrows his brow at the pet name. Octavia rolls her eyes in the dramatic way that teenage girls do.

“Since I’m the youngest! That makes me Baby Blake. Duh.”

Bellamy considers this as Murphy sips from his glass. “Does that make me Daddy Blake?” Murphy chokes on his water. He shakes his head fervently and coughs as he tries to regain composure, waving his hands back and forth in front of him. Bellamy raises a concerned eyebrow.

Octavia puts her hand on her chin, pondering the question. “Wouldn’t you just be Big Blake or something like that?”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, I suppose if anyone was Daddy Blake, it would probably be Caleb.”

Murphy screeches into his palms, exasperated. “OH GOD, THAT IS SO MUCH WORSE!” Bellamy and Octavia exchange shrugs at their stepbrother’s outburst.

“So if I’m not Daddy Blake, then what am I? I want one too.”

“No, fuck you, you’ve lost your pet name privileges. Honestly, I’m scarred for life.” Murphy crosses his arms and huffs, sitting back in his chair. When Bellamy only stares at him blankly, Murphy sighs in defeat and leans over to whisper an explanation in his ear. Bellamy’s eyes go wide and his face flushes.

“I wanna know!” Octavia pouts, but Murphy only shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older, O.” Bellamy hopes she forgets the lie because he is never going to explain it to her. Thankfully, the topic is deserted and they enjoy the rest of their delicious breakfast while arguing about whose turn it is to eat whipped cream directly from the can. Murphy gives in and hands it over to Octavia begrudgingly, and Bellamy smiles, content.

He can get used to this.

***

Bellamy and Murphy are halfway done cleaning the morning’s dishes, Octavia having retreated to her bedroom to nap off the ‘food coma’, when Bellamy realizes he forgot to find out why Murphy was skipping class in the first place yesterday. He thinks about straight-up asking him, but their morning has been so easy, so relaxed. So _nice_. He really doesn’t want to ruin that. Still…he feels sort of obligated to follow through with Kane’s request. He faces his stepbrother as nonchalantly as he can. “Hey, Murphy?”

Murphy pauses in the middle of drying a plate and cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Bellamy opens and closes his mouth a couple times, unsure of how to approach the subject in a way that won’t sound patronizing. He gives up with a shrug. “Never mind.”

“Christ.” Murphy rolls his eyes. “Come on, Blake. Spit it out.” He throws the towel over his shoulder and leans back against the kitchen counter casually. “What’s up?”

“Well, I was wondering why you didn’t go to class yesterday. Kane told me it’s been a while since you’ve done that. I thought maybe something happened.”

The silence stretches for a fraction too long before Murphy turns back to the sink, shaking his head, and plucks a clean glass out of the soapy water. “Nope. I just felt like not going.” He focuses all of his attention on drying the glass, even after it’s no longer wet. Bellamy just stares at him, lips pursed, until Murphy finally looks back at him out of the corner of his eye, painfully aware that he’s being watched. “ _What_?”

“I don’t believe you.”

Murphy narrows his eyes, defensive. “Why not?”

Bellamy gestures to the glass. “Because every time you lie you do this thing where you keep your hands busy and refuse to make eye contact.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Murphy scoffs as he picks up another utensil. He catches himself after a moment and flushes, setting the half-dried plate on the counter and crossing his arms defiantly with a forced smirk.

“Yeah, well, it’s also true.” Bellamy takes a step forward, placing a reassuring hand on Murphy’s shoulder. “So, why don’t you tell me what happened?” He can see the way Murphy’s jaw clenches and unclenches as he deliberates.

After a moment, he gives in, sighing. “It’s nothing, really. I got called down to the main office because someone was on the phone asking for me.” Murphy glances down at the floor, where he’s tracing invisible patterns on the tile with his toe. “Turns out it was my mom.”

“What? I thought you said you didn’t have a mother.”

“I did. She hasn’t been a mother to me since my dad died.” Murphy tightens his arms across his chest.

Bellamy decides to let that topic go for now. “Well, what did she say?”

“She said she misses me.” He pauses, and Bellamy is about to mention how that’s a nice sentiment, but then Murphy takes a deep breath. “And then she asked me for money.”

“Are you serious? What for?”

“Probably for more booze or drugs, I don’t fucking know. I hung up before she could give me an excuse.” He laughs bitterly, pushing his hair back from his face. “God, I don’t even know how she found out what school I go to.”

Bellamy furrows his brow, concerned. “Would she be able to figure out where you live?”

“I doubt it, but if she ever shows up here I’m calling the police.”

Sympathy bubbles up inside Bellamy. He wonders if that’s something that Murphy has had to do in the past. He can’t imagine how hard it would be to call the police on your own mother, but then again, he also has no idea what she’s like or what she’s done. Bellamy takes another look at Murphy’s dispirited expression, and he knows that he just has to do _something_.

He grabs his stepbrother by the hand, determined to cheer him up. “Follow me.”

Murphy raises his eyebrows. “To where, exactly?” Bellamy only smiles in response, and an amused grin slips onto Murphy’s face as he lets Bellamy drag him into the living room. Bellamy shoves him down onto the couch and Murphy gazes up at him, feigning disinterest. “So, are you planning on telling me what—”

Bellamy cuts him off, shushing noisily, and sprints back to the kitchen. He returns a couple minutes later with a tub of chocolate ice cream and two spoons in his possession. He happily thrusts the container into his stepbrother’s hands and plops down on the couch next to him. Murphy looks at the ice cream, to Bellamy, and back again, trying to hide a smile. “Um. Why?”

“We are going to consume unnecessary amounts of chocolate ice cream, binge watch something on Netflix, order pizza later for lunch, then watch more Netflix.” He shovels a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth as a demonstration. “And then we’re gonna do it all over again tomorrow.”

Murphy beams at him, excitedly digging into the container with his spoon. “What do you wanna watch first?”

“Your choice.”

Murphy cackles mischievously as he searches for a movie. “You ever seen Judas Kiss?”

Bellamy spends the entirety of the film blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> netflix and chill, but the chill is ice cream
> 
> also, if you've never seen judas kiss, please for the love of god do yourself a favor and go watch it. imagine a modern day, gay as hell, college film student version of Murphy.
> 
> that's it, that's the whole movie.


	6. We Were Born Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title comes from Hozier's "Take Me to Church" which like, of _course_ goes with this story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry it took so long to update! i'm in the process of moving and haven't had wifi for fuckin ages. ugh.
> 
> anywho, there's a little more angst in this chapter, because i enjoy suffering
> 
> tw for references to self-harm and past child neglect/abuse

After a fulfilling weekend without parents, complete with consuming two entire gallons of chocolate ice cream and letting Octavia watch those gruesome horror flicks she loves, Bellamy begrudgingly drags himself into homeroom Monday morning with Murphy in tow. He raises a questioning eyebrow when he finds his best friend perched cross-legged atop Murphy’s desk, but Miller simply waves at Bellamy before pulling Murphy down by the back of his neck to whisper something in his ear. Their close proximity makes Bellamy feel awkward, like he’s intruding on a private interaction. A grin slowly spreads across Murphy’s face at whatever he’s hearing. He pulls back laughing and smiles brightly at Miller, genuinely happy, and they side-five each other before Miller returns to his own desk without a word. Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation settling in his stomach.

Ms. Novak arrives a moment later and wastes no time addressing the class. “All right, everyone. As I mentioned on Friday, we have a test to take this morning.” The students groan collectively. “Enough whining, I gave plenty of notice for all of you to be prepared. Pencils out, bags on the floor, please.”

After twenty minutes of concentrated scribbling, a wad of paper flies past Bellamy’s face, tearing his attention away from the test. He shoots Miller a glare. Murphy and Miller have been passing notes to each constantly for the past couple weeks, and it’s rather unlike his best friend to be so disruptive. He slides his glare over to Murphy when he unfolds the paper and snickers behind his hand. Bellamy clenches his jaw, irritated by their juvenile behavior. What are they, twelve?

Murphy scrawls something quickly and throws it back to Miller, who catches the paper easily with one hand. He reads the response and ducks his head, but Bellamy can see his shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh out loud. Bellamy sighs pointedly but neither seem to notice his frustration. He’s thankful that this is the only class he has with the two of them together. The note drifts between their desks a few more times before Miller tosses it too lightly and it lands on the floor between Murphy and Bellamy. He leans down to pick it up out of reflex (his mom taught him to have good manners, alright?) but before he can, Murphy snatches it, sneering at him. Bellamy thinks Murphy just barely refrains from actually _hissing_. He scowls back at his stepbrother, annoyed. Murphy is about to open the note when Ms. Novak catches sight of it.

“Mr. Murphy, I’m sure if something is so important that you feel the need to discuss it with your friend in the middle of a test, then it must be worth sharing with the whole class.” She raises her chin smugly. He shrugs and makes a show of dramatically unfolding the paper, but Bellamy notices Murphy’s got the same look in his eye that he did when he faked a prayer on the first day he showed up to their class. Bellamy grimaces. This isn’t going to end well.

He clears his throat loudly. “Things I want the sex god Nathan Miller to do to my ass.” Bellamy’s jaw drops. “Number One—”

Murphy doesn’t get to start his list. 

Within seconds, Ms. Novak rips the sheet from his hands. She brings her ruler down on his desk with a loud _whack!_ as the rest of the class bursts into laughter; even Miller is gasping for air and wiping tears from his eyes. Bellamy turns his head back to Murphy, expecting to see the familiar cocky-ass smirk on his face. Instead, Bellamy finds that he’s faintly trembling, head ducked submissively and eyes glued to the ruler.

Ms. Novak points to the door. “Get out of my class!” She’s all but yelling, and granted, she tends to get upset easily, but Bellamy has never seen her so furious. Murphy leaves quickly and obediently to the surprise of everyone, clutching his jacket to his chest. Bellamy thinks he even hears Murphy mumble an apology on his way out. After he’s gone, Bellamy sees that Murphy left his backpack and makes a mental note to drop it off to him before his next class, assuming he can find him.

***

When the bell rings, Bellamy raises a curious eyebrow at Miller as he grabs Murphy’s bag. “The note didn’t actually say that, did it?” His stomach drops thinking about it.

Miller laughs again, shaking his head. “No, of course not. You know Murphy, always one for theatrics.”

“Good.” Bellamy breathes out audibly. He feels…relieved? That can’t be right. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck distractedly, confused about his own reaction. Miller cocks his head and opens his mouth to make a comment, but Bellamy excuses himself before he can, offering a tight-lipped smile as he raises the backpack. “I gotta find Murphy so I can give this back to him. See ya later, bro.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take Bellamy long to locate his stepbrother. He makes a quick stop in the restroom at the beginning of his search and observes a pair of familiar chunky combat boots underneath one of the stalls. He hesitates for a moment before tapping a knuckle on the door. “Murphy? You okay?”

“Leave me _alone_ , Bellamy.”

Bellamy shakes his head, then remembers Murphy can’t see him. “Not a chance. Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Go away.” 

Bellamy sighs and leans back against the side of the stall. “I’ve got your backpack. Figured you might need it.” He pauses, waiting for a response that never comes, but he hears a faint sniffle on the other side. “I will stand here literally all day if I have to.”

His ears perk at the sounds of shuffling, and soon Murphy is unlatching the door and walking past him to the sink. He turns on the cold tap, splashing the icy water onto his face as Bellamy watches patiently. When Murphy’s done, he shakes his head, flinging droplets across the mirror, then pats off the excess water with his sleeve. Bellamy notices his eyes are a little red around the edges. Murphy mumbles his thanks as he takes his bag from Bellamy.

“So.” Bellamy regards Murphy with caution, afraid that if he says the wrong thing his stepbrother might scamper off again. “What was that all about?” He juts a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of their homeroom.

“The note?” Murphy shrugs, aiming for apathetic, but Bellamy doesn’t miss the subtle tensing in his posture. “It was just a stupid joke. Didn’t Miller tell you that?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Not what I meant.” Murphy frowns in confusion. Bellamy wets his lips nervously before he speaks again, quieter. “I saw the way you reacted when Ms. Novak slammed her ruler on your desk.” Murphy’s jaw sets as he looks down, and Bellamy observes his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He takes a step forward and almost reaches out to brush the hair away from Murphy’s eyes, barely restraining himself. “You were shaking.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Murphy.” Bellamy ducks his head slightly so he can meet Murphy’s gaze, trying his best to convey his sincerity with his eyes. “I know there are things about your past that you haven’t told me. I’m here to listen if you feel like talking; you don’t have to deal with everything on your own.”

Murphy huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And here I thought you got me.” He makes a move for the door, but pauses to look over his shoulder briefly. There’s something in his expression that Bellamy has rarely seen there before, and it’s a little softer. Gratitude, maybe. It makes his heart skip a beat. “Thanks, though, Bellamy. I, uh…appreciate the sentiment.” He gives a half-smile before heading down the hall.

Bellamy decides that soft looks good on Murphy.

***

Later that night, Bellamy is finally nearing the end of his homework when he hears a strange clattering sound from somewhere down the hallway. He glances at his clock. 12:13AM. He recalls that his mom is still out of town for the next few days and everyone else went to bed hours ago. He considers ignoring it, but the noise was out of place enough that he decides it’s probably worth investigating.

As Bellamy steps out of his room, a sliver of light from the bathroom catches his attention. The door is slightly ajar, so he enters with a light knock and finds Murphy sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest, face buried against them, and he’s…trembling? There’s an open pocketknife on the ground beside him. Bellamy’s pulse skyrockets. 

“Murphy?!” He bats the blade away and kneels next to Murphy, trying to examine the boy without touching him, hands hovering hesitantly over his curled form. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?” He hears Murphy muttering something to himself, and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s saying he’s sorry, but there’s no indication that Murphy is even aware of his presence. Panicked, Bellamy hops to his feet. “Hold on, I’m gonna get Caleb.”

“No!” A hand latches onto Bellamy’s and he turns back to see Murphy looking up at him with wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His face is splotchy and red, but other than that he seems to be physically okay. “I’m sorry.” He retracts his hand quickly, folding back in on himself. “I-I just…I know I’m a fuck-up, but I don’t want to leave.” He runs a hand under his nose and sniffs. “Please don’t tell Caleb. I don’t wanna go back again.” He swallows and lowers his voice. “I’ll be good.” Bellamy’s heart aches. He crouches down by Murphy’s side again.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“In my room. Top dresser drawer. There’s…a few pill bottles.” He wraps his arms around his legs a little tighter and averts his gaze. “I need the one labeled Alprazolam.”

Bellamy nods once before sprinting down the hall. The pills are buried under clothing, but he locates the bottle quickly and returns to the bathroom, filling a glass with water from the tap. He offers both to Murphy, who takes them with shaking hands and a muttered ‘thanks’ before tossing a couple pills back and downing the water. Bellamy sequesters the empty glass, afraid it might shatter under Murphy’s white-knuckled grip, and slumps back against the adjacent wall, sliding down to the ground. He pretends he doesn’t feel absolutely elated when Murphy doesn’t shy away as their legs brush, personal space be damned. The boy’s rigid body relaxes a fraction when they lock eyes again. Bellamy is the first to break the silence. “You okay?”

“I will be.” Murphy gestures to the pill bottle by his side. “It’s a fast-acting anti-anxiety medication.” He pauses, an internal debate about elaborating flickering across his features. “I have to take it when I get panic attacks.” Bellamy only nods, at a loss for words. He’s lucky enough to have never needed a prescription beyond cold medicine. “I also take Adderall because I can’t focus for shit. And sleeping pills. And a couple different kinds of anti-depressants.” Murphy laughs humorlessly. “I guess I’m just all kinds of fucked up, huh?”

Bellamy absorbs the information for a moment before speaking. “My vision is awful. Like, really bad. Blind as a bat.” He waves a hand in front of his own face for effect, and smiles awkwardly when Murphy only blinks in response. “I can’t see anything without glasses or contacts.”

“Um. Okay.” Murphy raises a curious eyebrow. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know it’s not of the same caliber, but your medications are just like my glasses. We utilize them in order to experience the world like everyone else. And that doesn’t make us broken or abnormal.” Bellamy shrugs, offering Murphy a fond grin. “Just unique.”

Murphy buries his nose in the crook of his arm, but Bellamy can tell by the way his eyes crinkle that he’s hiding a smile. He composes himself quickly and snorts. “Of course you wear glasses. You’re a fuckin’ nerd.”

“I’m trying to help, don’t make fun of me.” Bellamy scoffs, shoving Murphy in the shoulder with a glare, but the smile tugging at his lips belies his irritation. He shifts a little closer to Murphy, whether for his stepbrother’s comfort or his own, he isn’t sure, and clears his throat. “Hey, um…what did you mean earlier about not wanting to ‘go back again?’ Back where?”

“To the group home.” Murphy bites his lower lip nervously and if Bellamy wasn’t so worried, he would probably find the act endearing. “Every time I’ve had a panic attack while living with a foster family, they decided they couldn’t handle it and I ended up back there.”

“What? That’s so fucked up.” Bellamy shakes his head, running a hand through his curls as Murphy hums in affirmation. He slides his gaze back to his stepbrother and takes a deep breath, hoping he’s not crossing any lines with his curiosity. “Do you know what caused the panic attack this time?” After a long, tense minute, Bellamy is sure that he won’t receive a response, but eventually Murphy sighs as he props his chin on his knees.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one, but…I don’t know, I guess I shouldn’t have pushed the envelope with Ms. Novak. The thing with the ruler and the way she screamed at me, it— it just reminded me too much of my mother.” 

Bellamy nods solemnly, allowing the silence to settle between them. Without thinking, he reaches over to take one of Murphy’s slender wrists in his hand, pulling the limb into his own lap. Murphy watches with hesitant, heavy-lidded eyes as Bellamy trails a finger over the expanse of his pale arm. He frowns, noticing for the first time the faint scars that litter his stepbrother’s otherwise flawless skin. “Are these…” Bellamy trails off, swallowing thickly. It’s _not_ his place to ask.

“Self-inflicted, yeah. I used to…when I still lived with my mom. Mostly she was too drunk or drugged up to do much more than lie on the couch, but whenever she hadn’t had a fix for a few days she got mean and…sometimes violent. She blamed me for my father’s death.” Murphy pauses, exhaling a shaky breath. “And I guess I kind of did too. But if I could _control_ the pain, it made things quieter, y’know?” He taps two fingers to his temple with a wry smile, then drops his voice almost to a whisper. “If you hadn’t found me when you did I might not have been able to stop myself.” Bellamy lightly traces a particularly jagged line on his inner wrist, then slowly slides his fingers along Murphy’s palm and presses their hands together even as his heart beats frantically against his ribcage. He looks up to find Murphy’s eyes glistening again, and it makes Bellamy want to fight everything that has ever caused him to believe he deserved less than the whole world.

With the kind of bold confidence that only comes with late-night confessions and unscripted vulnerability, Bellamy places a hand on the side of his face, forcing Murphy to look at him, and brushes away the fresh tears with his thumb.

“I hope the people who did you wrong have trouble sleeping at night.”

Murphy’s eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly before he turns away, dropping his gaze to the floor in front of him. He gives a melancholic huff, but Bellamy can see a hint of a smile on his lips. “That’s more than anyone has ever hoped for me.” Without looking at him, Murphy tentatively slips his hand into Bellamy’s, giving a gentle squeeze, and stands to leave the room. Before he can process what just took place, Bellamy finds himself alone on the floor in the bathroom, flushed and dizzy with emotion, and when he returns to his own bedroom, he sees the pocketknife folded neatly on his pillow and smiles. It’s all the thanks he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murphy needs a hug but like what's new
> 
> also if you're curious about what the note _actually_ said, it was just miller and murphy gossiping about their huge gay crushes on monty and bellamy, respectively. which is why murphy didn't want bellamy to read it


	7. Everywhere I Look I Catch a Glimpse of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title is a line from the song "Trouble" by Cage the Elephant
> 
> you should give it a listen while reading this chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back? (back, back)  
> back again  
> shady's back (back, back)  
> tell a friend
> 
> literally tho i'm so sorry, i promise i'm going to finish this story...slowly but surely
> 
> 2017 was a _bitch_ y'all
> 
> i hope that anyone who's still reading enjoys this chapter!! it makes me giggle at least so that's something

“What on earth are you _doing_?”

Murphy shrugs as he mindlessly rearranges the childish alphabet magnets on the side of the fridge. “What does it _look_ like I’m doing?”

“Well, considering that we have a book report due Monday, it looks to me like you’re procrastinating.” Bellamy tilts his head to the side, hoping to understand just what the fuck Murphy has spelled out.

“Am not. Don’t be such a _milquetoast_ , Blake.” He motions grandly to the word like that explains everything. “Plus, I've been on a heck of a roll— already finished the assignment and everything.”

Bellamy grunts in defeat, resting his head against the fridge’s cool surface, and chooses to deflect away from the fact that even _Murphy_ has managed to be more studious than him. “Is that even a real word? Or did you make it up just now?”

Murphy places a hand on his own chest in mock offense. “ _Me_? I’ve never made anything up in my _entire_ life.” He smirks, moving the letters around to create something else. Bellamy loses himself in watching Murphy play with the magnets, enjoying the childish glint in his eyes or studying the tip of his tongue as it peeks out from between his lips in concentration. It isn’t until Murphy pulls back from the fridge giggling that Bellamy bothers to look at what he spelled this time, and he finds himself face-to-face with **FUCK ME HARD** glaring back at him in bright, neon-colored plastic. And, because fate has never been forgiving, it’s the exact moment that his mom and sister enter the kitchen.

Without hesitation, Bellamy throws his back against the offending words, desperately attempting to appear casual while his heart races so fast he thinks he might actually black out. Murphy’s shoulders shake violently as he stifles his laughter behind his hands. Aurora looks up from her cell phone to greet them. “There you boys are. How was school?”

“Fine!” Bellamy answers too quickly and too excitedly, which only causes Murphy to giggle more.

“Weirdos.” Octavia rolls her eyes as she drops four bags of food on the table, then retreats to the living room, efficiently shirking her grocery duties and leaving Bellamy to unload them. Again. 

Aurora glances curiously between the boys as Bellamy scowls at Murphy, who returns the sentiment by sticking out his tongue. She rustles her fingers through their locks affectionately. “Don’t forget that Octavia and I are leaving for her rugby competition in Oklahoma City in a little bit. Bell, I left some money on your nightstand so you boys can go out for dinner until we get back Sunday evening.” She offers a sly wink to the pair. “I know you’re not too fond of Caleb’s prowess in the kitchen.”

“Or lack thereof.” Murphy crosses his arms with a huff.

“Murphy, I almost forgot!” Aurora maneuvers a plastic bag into his unwilling hands. “I bought some more chocolate ice cream for you while we were at the store. They were out of the brand you like, so I hope this is okay for now.”

Murphy stares at the bag with what Bellamy would consider an unnecessary amount of incredulity. “It’s great.” He tries unsuccessfully to repress a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, hun.” Aurora ruffles his hair again as she glides past them and out of the kitchen.

Bellamy watches fondly as Murphy clutches the bag against his chest; he hardly ever lets his guard down like this. It’s nice for a change, being able to see the gentle, timid side of—

“If you’re smiling because you think I’m giving you any of _my_ ice cream, you can suck my ass, Blake.” Murphy sneers over the plastic tub as he tosses it haphazardly into the freezer.

And just like that the moment is ruined. Bellamy exhales a long-suffering sigh, spinning around to dismantle the obscene phrase on the fridge. He starts by switching the **F** and **D** , thinking ducks are a more suitable magnet topic, then glances over his shoulder. “So where do you wanna go, dickbag?”

“Huh?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes dramatically, builds the word **FLOAT** next. “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

Murphy rubs the back of his neck distractedly, avoiding eye contact. “Actually I already have sushi plans with Nate tonight. We were gonna go to that new place in the Railyard…Dragon Ass or whatever.”

“It’s Dragon Skin, idiot.” Bellamy tacks **ON** to the end, smirking at his stepbrother’s antics before it dawns on him that dinner at a sushi bar sounds serious. Like a _date_. He tries to swallow his disappointment before it spreads to his face, abandoning his half-formed fridge-thought. “Well, we can just go out tomorrow instead. Pretty sure there are some microwave meals I can make for myself.”

‘ **DUCKS FLOAT ON** ’ taunts him from the side of the glossy white appliance. Who’s the idiot now?

“You can join us if you want.” Murphy glances up at him in a way that almost looks hopeful, but Bellamy decides it’s probably just his mind playing tricks on him.

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t want to come between you guys and your…fish.” He edges slowly toward the staircase, wanting desperately to just curl up by himself for the rest of the night and sulk. “I hope y’all have fun.”

Murphy opens his mouth, most likely to protest, but Bellamy sprints halfway up the stairs before his frustration has the chance to get any more out of hand than it already is. When he makes it to his room he collapses on the bed in defeat, ready to spend the entirety of the evening searching for shapes in the paint of his brocade ceiling.

His best friend is taking his stepbrother out on a date. Like, a _real_ one. At a sushi bar.

Bellamy huffs a few curls out of his eyes and flops on his side right as Octavia barges into the room with her rugby bag slung over her shoulder, dirtied cleats tied together at the laces and dangling from her neck like a sacrilegious stole. “Hey, asshole. I didn’t get a good luck hug from you!”

“Sorry, O.” Bellamy gets up to pull her into an embrace, but she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Okay, spill. What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing. I’m totally great.” Octavia purses her lips, folds her arms, and Bellamy knows she’s already read him like Genesis. “Okay, fine. But it’s stupid, so promise you won’t laugh.”

Octavia holds her littlest finger out in front of her. “Pinky promise.”

Bellamy sighs, curling his own pinky around hers. “It’s just…Miller and Murphy are going to Dragon Skin together.” 

She scrunches her nose, confused. “Bell, if you want sushi so bad why don’t you just tag along? I know it’s your favorite.”

“That’s not it.” Bellamy scrubs a hand over his face. Why is he even upset about this? “I mean, they’re going on a _date_.” Octavia’s eyes light up the way they do when she’s about to have one of her laughing fits, which only serves to piss Bellamy off more. He jabs an accusatory finger at her. “You promised!”

“You’re right, you’re right.” She takes a deep breath to regain composure, then shrugs unsympathetically. “I think you should go to dinner with them, Bell. Trust me.”

Bellamy groans, throwing his head back. “No, I would end up being an awkward third wheel and ruining their night. Honestly, I’d rather just chill in my room instead. Maybe I’ll watch a movie or something.” A raunchy scene from Judas Kiss plays without permission in his head, nearly bringing a blush to his cheeks. He pushes the intrusive thought from his mind quickly.

“You really should join th—”

“Good luck, O. I know you’ll kick some Oklahoma City ass out there.” Bellamy wraps his arms around her, effectively bringing the discussion to a close. Octavia gives a sad half-smile before leaving him, finally alone, staring at the vast vacancy of his room.

In the hall, Bellamy can hear the hushed whispers of his concerned sister, no doubt exposing his jealousy to Murphy. Just as he’s about to barge out there and clear the air—he’s _not_ jealous—Bellamy balks at the sound of his stepbrother’s impatient voice just outside his door.

“I invited him and he said no. Bellamy’s a big boy, Octavia; he can come out here and tell me he changed his mind if he really wants to go. I’m not gonna ask him twice.”

His face flushes in anger as he listens to Murphy’s heavy, combat-booted footfall descending the stairs. Who the hell does he think he is? It’s not like Murphy’s afterthought of an offer is some sort of grand gesture that Bellamy would be a fool not to accept. It’s _just sushi_. And he’s not hungry anyway.

Bellamy is still fuming long after the house is empty, still simmering as he microwaves some Pizza Rolls and cues up Netflix. Judas Kiss appears in the “recently viewed” category and he bristles, skipping over the title faster than the laggy console can comprehend. He ends up watching Fight Club, eager for some gratuitous violence and melodrama. By sunset, Bellamy has cooled off considerably, the embarrassment now a mere shadow of its former glory, and as his ire dissolves, he's left to face a cold truth:

God, he misses Murphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys are Gay and Oblivious™
> 
> @everyone who continued to comment and send me encouragement to update even when it had been over a year: ILYSM!!!!!!!
> 
> you guys are what make writing gay ass fanfiction totally worth it <3


	8. It's Like 2 A.M. and the Bars All Close at 10 in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title for this chapter comes from the song "It's Called: Freefall" by my one of my new ALL TIME FAVORITE bands, Rainbow Kitten Surprise
> 
> highly recommend listening to this song with this chapter  
> p l e a s e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter!! so soon!! GET HYPED!!
> 
> this chapter is a LONG ONE and also one of the first chapters i wrote for this story so it is near and dear to my heart HOWEVER shit gets real so:
> 
> tw for child abuse, homophobia, and homophobic comments

It isn’t until Bellamy opens his eyes to the blurred pages of _Metamorphosis_ laying across his face that he realizes he must have fallen asleep. The book flops onto the floor with a quiet _thud_ , pages splaying like a fan, as he lifts himself from the couch, stiff muscles protesting with every move. He sleepily scans his surroundings, notices a dull blue 11:45 PM mocking him from the DVD player.

Bellamy pretends like Murphy isn’t the first thought he has upon waking, then sneaks up the staircase to see if the punk is back from his date yet.

As he approaches Murphy’s closed door, Bellamy hears a quiet whimper from the other side. After a moment of consideration about whether or not he should investigate the sound further, he recalls finding Murphy on the bathroom floor a few weeks ago, shaking and on the verge of a breakdown. He forgoes knocking and decides to enter. 

And regrets it immediately. 

He isn’t sure what he was expecting to see, but his shirtless best friend straddling his stepbrother’s waist and biting at his exposed chest probably would have been his last guess. Bellamy’s eyebrows disappear behind his curls. “Miller?!” He claps his hand over his mouth reflexively, cursing his knee-jerk response.

The boys on the bed both startle. Miller practically leaps off Murphy and, for the first time Bellamy can remember, blushes from head to toe. “Hey, man. I, uh…I’m gonna go.” He makes a dash for the open door.

“Miller, wait!” Bellamy moves to stop him, but his agile best friend slips by, grabbing his hoodie before he vaults down the stairs. Bellamy chews his lip as the front door slams closed, trying to pinpoint why his stomach feels like a jumble of anxious knots.

“Maybe knock next time, dude.” Bellamy turns to see Murphy rummaging through a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. He tries not to stare at Murphy’s pale skin or the dimples in his lower back or the way his skinny jeans cling to his thighs when he bends over or…wait, what? Bellamy shakes his head like that will help clear the thoughts from his mind. Murphy somehow manages to pick a single v-neck out of the mountain of black attire and slips it over his head. Dark pink hickies peek out from beneath the collar like abstract tattoos. Murphy smooths his hair down, swipes his forefinger under his nose, that damn praxis, and it’s. Not endearing to Bellamy. At all.

Murphy fixes him with a blank expression. “What?”

He realizes he hasn’t responded and clears his throat, hoping he can actually form words. “What the hell was _that_ all about? I didn’t think…” He blinks. Bellamy doesn’t exactly know where he was going with that. “I didn’t think you were into Miller.”

“Not especially. But he’s the only other guy at school who’s out, so.” Murphy shrugs. “I like fooling around, what can I say? Sometimes I’ll even make out with girls. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh.” Bellamy isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Plus, Nate told me he wanted some experience before he makes his move on ya boy Monty. And, hey, I’m here to help.” Murphy smirks cockily. “So I showed him some tips and tricks.”

Bellamy swallows noticeably. His mouth feels like a desert. “I see. So that’s it? You guys aren’t gonna start dating or anything?”

Murphy laughs loudly, cocking an amused eyebrow at Bellamy’s bewilderment. “No? Why, you jealous, Blake?”

A blush spreads across Bellamy’s freckles, his eyes growing wide. “W-what? No!” He blinks rapidly, trying to gather his scattered thoughts again. “I just…I mean…it would just be, like, weird. You know. If my best friend was with my stepbrother.”

Murphy’s face darkens suddenly, mood shifting like the flip of a switch, and he crosses his arms. “Well, if you’re done cock-blocking me for the night, feel free to see yourself out.” He slides his feet into his combat boots and begins to lace them up, deliberately ignoring Bellamy.

“Um…okay?” Bellamy furrows his brow, confused about Murphy’s unexpected attitude. He turns to leave the room, but pauses and spins back around in frustration. “Did I, like, do something to piss you off?” Murphy freezes mid-tie.

“Forget it, Bellamy.” Murphy finishes lacing his boots quickly and slips into his leather jacket before brushing past him. “It’s nothing.”

Bellamy catches his arm. “Where are you going? It’s midnight.”

“What are you, my mom?” Murphy pulls out of Bellamy’s grasp and exits the room just in time to run, quite literally, into Caleb.

Murphy casts his gaze downward. “’Scuse me.” He heads for the staircase, but Caleb seizes the collar of his jacket, moving it just enough to expose the hickies on his clavicle. A hot, dangerous sort of anger sparks inside Bellamy’s chest when he sees Murphy flinch at the sudden contact.

The pastor’s eyes bore into the bruises so intensely that Bellamy thinks Murphy’s skin might catch fire. “John, it seems that your faith has been lacking authenticity as of late.” His repulsion doesn’t go unnoticed as he slides his gaze to meet Murphy’s, who does his best to shrug despite Caleb’s firm hold on him.

“Purification is a process.”

Caleb presses his lips into a thin line, unamused by the boy’s antics. “Care to explain what those are?” He gestures to the marks with his chin as he releases Murphy with a little too much force.

He gives the pastor a perplexed look. “They’re none of your business.” Murphy scoffs and adjusts his jacket pointedly in the way that indignant Bad Boys™ do. Bellamy tries not to roll his eyes at the display.

Caleb crosses his arms over his chest and straightens his shoulders in an attempt to make himself appear bigger, Bellamy thinks, which seems pointless since he already towers over Murphy’s petite frame. “It’s my business to ensure there are no _fags_ under this roof.”

Whoa.

Bellamy gawks at his stepfather, too shocked to think straight, while his lungs refuse to do their job. Did he really just…? Bellamy glances hesitantly at Murphy and— _god_ , if looks could kill.

Murphy’s face is flushed in rage, his breathing accelerated and shallow. “What the _fuck_ did you just call me?” His hands curl into fists at his sides. And that. Can’t be good.

“If you won’t get right with the Lord, John, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay. I will not tolerate any kind of ‘homosexual activity’ in this household.” He makes exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “That goes for you too, Bellamy.”

Bellamy balks, eyebrows escalating in confusion. “Huh?” Murphy flicks his eyes between the two of them, still fuming.

“I’ve been looking into some nearby conversion therapy centers and I found a couple with high success rates. It’s a possibility that we should consider if you’re going to remain living here.”

“But, uh, I’m…I’m not gay.”

Caleb shakes his head slowly in disapproval. “Now, Bellamy, do not deceive me. Surely you must recall the Ninth Commandment?”

“What? I’m not lying to you, I’m—”

Bellamy’s head snaps to the side with the unmistakable sound of skin connecting with skin, and pain blossoms across his left cheek. He brings a trembling hand up to his face, blinking back tears. Bellamy’s relationship with his stepfather has always been strained, but he never thought Caleb would actually _hit_ him.

In seconds, Murphy is on Caleb, shoving him back against the wall with an animosity Bellamy didn’t think him capable of. Fury cascades off the boy in waves, a living embodiment of all things paroxysmal. “Don’t you fucking _touch_ him!”

With an expression akin to mild annoyance, Caleb grabs him by the scruff of his neck and raises his other hand. Murphy ducks his head, anticipating the blow, but Bellamy latches onto the pastor’s arm before he has a chance to follow through. “Wait!” He spares a quick glance at his cowering stepbrother, then turns back to Caleb, horrified. “Don’t do this. _Please_.”

After a long, tense minute, Murphy is finally freed from his grip and he stumbles backwards, wide-eyed and trembling, rubbing at the skin where he had been restrained. Caleb sneers at him. “Your perversions have tainted this family for far too long. I want you out of my house now. I will make arrangements for your things to be delivered to you, but if I see you here again I’m calling the police.”

Murphy hesitates briefly, locking eyes with Bellamy. He gives an almost imperceptible nod, desperately hoping his stepbrother will leave while he has the chance. Caleb takes a menacing step in his direction.

“I said _now_.”

Murphy scrambles down the staircase without another word, and Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the front door slam. The reprieve ends as Caleb grips his arm, dragging him down the hall, and pushes him roughly through the threshold of his room. The door slams shut behind him. Bellamy hears the sound of moving furniture and he quickly clambers to his feet, but by the time he attempts to open the door, he finds that Caleb has already barricaded him in his room. He yells out in frustration, banging his fists against the unforgiving wood. “Let me out of here! You can’t do this!”

Caleb’s voice is calm and steady on the other side. “ _He who assaults his father and drives his mother away is a shameful and disgraceful son_ —Proverbs 19:26. I’m sorry, Bellamy, but John has corrupted you enough; this is for your own good.”

He hears Caleb’s footsteps retreating down the stairs as he slumps back against the door, sliding down to the ground in defeat. He presses gingerly on the spot where Caleb struck him, stinging skin protesting under his fingertips. Bellamy’s head is still spinning from the altercation, but his heart flutters when he thinks about the way Murphy jumped to his defense. 

His stomach drops as he realizes he has no way of contacting Murphy, no way of knowing if he’s okay or not. Bellamy pulls his legs up to his chest, buries his head in his arms, and for the first time in years tries to reconcile with feeling so small and weak and powerless. There has to be some way he can escape without Caleb noticing, but even if he could leave the involuntary confinement of his room he wouldn’t be able to sneak past his stepfather, undoubtedly stationed on the sofa with two fingers of Crown Royal and a self-congratulatory smile. Frustrated, Bellamy entangles his hands in his curls, trying to focus past the ebbing waves of nausea and nervous energy.

Several minutes of fruitless plotting later, Bellamy hears the unmistakable trill of an Eastern Screech Owl, and glances up to find one perched on a branch outside his window—of course! He hops to his feet and opens the window, surveying the distance to the ground. It’s farther than he thought, but the tree looks sturdy enough to hold his weight. The owl cocks its head at him. Bellamy mirrors the action. “Do you think I can borrow your branch?” The owl coos once, flies away, and Bellamy takes that as a yes.

After a few deep breaths and only a minimal amount of fear Bellamy eases halfway out the window, straddling the frame, and leans, wrapping his arms around the thickest part of the branch he can reach. He pulls himself the rest of the way outside, praising the gods for his upper-body strength, and dangles for a moment before clumsily shimmying over to the trunk of the tree, then climbs down quickly. He huffs when he reaches the ground and brushes his shirt off, more than a little impressed with this newly acquired Delinquent Skill™. 

Now for the difficult part: locating Murphy. 

“If I was a giant pain in the ass, where would I be…” Bellamy starts his car, rushing through a mental list of all the places that Murphy could have run off to. His smoke spot under the bleachers? No, it’s way too cold out tonight, even for Murphy. He rules out checking any of his friends’ houses, confident that they would call him if Murphy uncharacteristically showed up on their doorstep. Bellamy shakes his head in frustration as he shifts into reverse, settling for combing the nearby streets one by one. He’s on foot, after all; Murphy couldn’t have wandered too far. Right?

***

Thirty square blocks and forty-five minutes later with no sign of his stepbrother, Bellamy pulls to the side of the road and slumps against the steering wheel, dispirited. He _has_ to find Murphy, but with as much time as Bellamy has already wasted, the boy could be anywhere. He pounds a fist on the dashboard. Murphy sacrificed his own skin and safety without a second thought to protect Bellamy, and how does he repay him? By driving around in circles like a damn fool. Bellamy takes a deep breath, attempting to regain composure. Losing his cool isn’t going to help either of them right now.

Bellamy recalls the last time Murphy vanished, the distinct aroma of church wine staining his memory, and he briefly wonders if it’s worth searching the chapel despite knowing it will be locked up until Sunday service. But, then…it’s not about the _place_ ; it’s about the _vice_. Murphy has a propensity for slipping back into his destructive tendencies while under stress. And if he can’t get alcohol from the church…

He throws his Jeep into first gear, peeling out of the neighborhood, and sets his sights on the Railyard. Only several minutes pass before Bellamy pulls up along the strip and parks, deciding it will be easier to spot Murphy amongst the crowds of people if he’s on foot. He makes his way down the street, block by block, glancing as nonchalantly as he can into bars as he passes them. He doubts that Murphy would make it in without being ID’d, but he’s also heard stories from Clarke and Raven about a few shady places where all it takes to distract the bouncers is a little flirting and a nice ass. And damn, if that’s the case then Murphy would have no problem…not that Bellamy has ever thought about Murphy’s ass. He bites his lip and quickens his pace.

Bellamy is peering casually into The City of Light, a kitschy new dance club, trying not to draw the attention of a bouncer when he feels a hand on his chest. “Hey, hot stuff.” He whips his head forward to see a group of five stunning girls with half-lidded gazes in front of him. The one with her hand on him offers a sultry smile as she leans in further. Bellamy can smell alcohol on her breath. “So, did they give you a name along with all those rippling pectorals?” A couple of the other girls run their hands along the fitted sleeves of his sweater, stroking his muscles, and despite the layer of clothing between them he suddenly feels very exposed. 

“Uh…Bellamy.” He raises his eyebrows, flushing.

She purrs. “Bellamy, hmm? I like that. Wanna have some fun, Bellamy?”

“I’m a little busy, sorry.”

The girl pouts. “Aw come on, a cutie like you can’t spend the night alone. Have a drink with us!”

“I-I’m only seventeen.” Bellamy takes a step back, uncomfortable with their proximity.

She pauses, then a grin spreads across her face. “That’s okay, you can come back to _my_ place instead.” The other girls giggle. Bellamy’s stomach churns as she tugs him forward at the neckline of his shirt. Her voice is syrupy, sensual; it’s honeycomb and flower nectar. “Let me show you what it’s like to be with a _real_ woman.”

Desperate to escape, Bellamy staggers back again, only to find himself pressed up against the cool stone wall of one of the bars. “U-um, I’m really sorry, but I’m kind of in the middle of looking for—”

Bellamy’s voice catches in his throat when the girl steps into his space, determined, and molds her body to his. The pulsing music of the club behind him and the cloyingly sweet scent of her perfume and the tilting, swirling atmosphere stifle his thoughts. He’s disoriented, dizzy, practically hyperventilating. But all he can think about is Murphy and his stupid sunshine smile and how much he _needs_ him, so he takes a deep breath and throws his hands up in protest. “I’m gay!”

The girl pulls back, annoyed, as her expression cools. “Ugh! I should have known, it’s _always_ the hot ones. Let’s go.” She sighs and the group brushes past him, scoffing and eye-rolling.

As his breathing evens out and his heart rate returns to some semblance of normal, Bellamy blinks, surprised. Wow, that felt… _good_. When the group is out of his sight, Bellamy runs a hand through his tangled locks with relief. It’s like he’s tasting oxygen for the first time in months, able to feel his lungs filling with fresh air again. He inhales through his nose, lets it out in a huff of laughter, and tries not to grin like an idiot as he continues his journey. He fails spectacularly.

Just as Bellamy is coming up on the end of the Railyard and starting to lose hope of finding his stepbrother, he crosses an alley and hears a familiar whimper. His mind flashes back to the moment earlier that night when he walked in on Miller and Murphy. Bellamy frowns, straining to see in the shadows, and catches sight of a tall, lean man bending down, kissing the neck of someone pinned between his body and the brick building. Bellamy inches forward and pales; he’d recognize those ridiculous combat boots anywhere. “Murphy?!”

Murphy clumsily pushes the other man away from himself a little bit and furrows his brow. “Bellamy?” He hiccups. “What’re you doing here?”

The man waves Bellamy off before he has a chance to respond. “Get lost, kid.” He resumes making out with Murphy, biting at his lower lip and reaching around to grab his ass. 

Bellamy’s temper flares and, despite his better judgement, he approaches the guy as confidently as he can. Upon closer inspection, the man appears to be at least twenty-five years old and considerably larger than himself. He swallows, clears his throat. “Hey, leave him alone. He’s obviously drunk.”

Murphy pulls away from the kiss and hiccups again, placing the tip of his index finger on Bellamy’s chest. “‘M not drunk. _You’re_ drunk.” He giggles at his own joke.

Bellamy sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come on, dude, get off him.” He reaches out to take Murphy’s hand in his but the man shoves him back.

“I _said_ get lost.” He turns his attention back to Murphy, palming his dick through the denim of his jeans. Murphy lets out a lewd moan as his hips buck against the other guy’s touch.

Before he can think too hard about what he’s doing, Bellamy turns the man around to face him and punches him square in the jaw. He shakes out his aching knuckles as the guy stumbles and clutches his cheek, swearing. Bellamy uses the distraction to grab Murphy’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.” Murphy nods, wide-eyed, and they make a run for it before the other guy tries to get even. 

When they’re finally far enough from the alley for comfort, Bellamy stops to let Murphy catch his breath. He thinks Murphy might be sick when he doubles over, but after a minute the boy hoists himself upright, wobbling only slightly, and gives Bellamy a drunken scowl. “So, Blake, any particular reason you felt the need to blue-ball me _again_?”

Bellamy wants to spout off some witty comeback or chastise Murphy for being so reckless or maybe seize him by the collar and make him understand just how goddamn _worried_ he’s been, but when he stares into Murphy’s pale blue eyes, his words fail him. So instead, he cups Murphy’s face and pulls him in, pressing their lips together passionately, trying to convey all of his unspoken feelings with his mouth and tongue. Shocked, Murphy’s body stiffens momentarily before he relaxes into the touch. He wraps his arms around Bellamy’s neck, reciprocating the kiss with just as much intensity, and all Bellamy can think about is Jesus and Judas, but damned if he knows who is who.

And, well. Bellamy has kissed plenty of girls before, but he’s never felt anything quite like this.

It isn’t until passersby start to whistle and cat-call at the pair that they pull away from each other, sporting matching blushes. Murphy laughs nervously. “I, uh…I thought you were straight.”

“So did I.” Bellamy chuckles. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Murphy smiles and smooths his hair down. “So…what do we do now?”

“Now, we go to Miller’s. I’m sure David will let us stay there until Mom and Octavia get back. But let’s get something to eat first so you can sober up. I don’t want you making a complete idiot out of yourself in front of David.” Bellamy pauses. “Speaking of which, how did you even manage to buy any alcohol? You look like you’re twelve.”

“Trust me, Blake.” Murphy offers a mischievous grin. “When you have an ass like mine, you don’t have to pay for drinks.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“You’re disgusting; please don’t ever speak to me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES THEY FINALLY KISSED U R WELCOME


	9. Is the Devil so Bad If He Cries in His Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title is a line from another song by Rainbow Kitten Surprise called "Devil Like Me"
> 
> ch-ch-check it out ayy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update!! enjoy :)
> 
> tw for references to mild dubcon towards the beginning of the chapter i guess? in case that bothers anyone  
> tw also for references to child abuse from the previous chapter

As Bellamy waits patiently for Murphy to inhale his food from Taco Bell (god bless the Fourth Meal), he texts Miller to make sure that it’s okay for them to head over.

**hells bells**  
**1:50am**  
hey dude, murphy and i are  
at taco bell rn. is it cool with  
david if we come over when  
he’s done eating? it’s urgent

Bellamy fidgets in his seat, hoping that Miller is up playing video games. He figures if worse comes to worst he could always ask Clarke, but Dr. Griffin doesn’t exactly _like_ Murphy, and she would probably like an intoxicated Murphy showing up at two in the morning even less. Thankfully, Miller is remarkably predictable and responds quickly.

**nady2shady**  
**1:53am**  
yeah of course man, i’m  
just playing dragon age. is  
everything ok?? why are u  
guys at taco bell if it’s urgent?

**nady2shady**  
**1:53am**  
btw i’ll suck ur dick if u bring me  
a doritos locos taco. i’m starving  
;)

Bellamy chuckles at the response, earning himself a curious glance from Murphy, who’s in the middle of drowning his burrito in fire sauce. “Miller offered to suck my dick if I bring him food.” Without warning, Murphy snatches Bellamy’s phone out of his hand faster than someone in his state should be able to. Bellamy frowns, reaching for the phone. “Oh my god. Give it back, you _ass_.” Murphy smacks his hand away instead.

**hells bells**  
**1:55am**  
m!prhy’s alreaady succ

**hells bells**  
**1:55am**  
**suckng mydick bUT thx

**hells bells**  
**1:56am**  
sorry, murphy stole my phone.  
and also he’s drunk. i’ll explain  
everything when we get there.  
want anything to drink?

**nady2shady**  
**1:57am**  
coke! thanks boo

While Murphy finishes his food, Bellamy’s mind involuntarily drifts back to Caleb and the fight and how he’ll surely alter the details in his version of the story when he tells Aurora and Kane and whomever else the pastor might see fit to drag into this mess. And, on top of everything else, he’ll have to come out to his mom. What if she agrees with Caleb? Maybe she’ll be just as eager to ship him off to conversion therapy. Bellamy feels the telltale burn of shame rising in the back of his throat. Anxious and unable to sit still, he excuses himself to go splash some cold water on his face in the restroom in hopes that it will soothe his nerves. He lingers in front of the mirror for a few moments, regarding the nearly-forgotten mark on his cheek, which is beginning to look suspiciously like a bruise. He had been too focused on trying to find Murphy to think much about it, but now the pain is flourishing. 

He hears the door to the bathroom close and lock behind him, and he spins around to find Murphy at the entrance, looking a little like death warmed over. 

“Hey, how you feelin’?” Murphy doesn’t respond, and Bellamy figures he’s probably still too tipsy to register everything, but when he takes a few deliberate steps in Bellamy’s direction, eyes glued to the dingy tile, and sinks to his knees directly in front of him, Bellamy starts to panic. “Murphy?”

He silently begins undoing the button on Bellamy’s jeans with a vacant stare and it takes Bellamy a moment to realize what’s happening. “Whoa! Murph, hey—” He puts a hand on Murphy’s shoulder to dissuade him, but he continues pulling down the zipper. Alarmed, Bellamy quickly captures both of Murphy’s hands between his own. “Murphy! Stop!”

Murphy peers up at him with glistening eyes, looking equal parts wounded and relieved. “I…I thought you wanted this.”

Bellamy furrows his brow, releasing Murphy’s hands in order to fix his jeans. “No. God, no, Murphy. I mean yeah, maybe someday, but not now and _definitely_ not in the bathroom of Taco Bell.”

“I don’t understand.” Murphy collapses back on his haunches, shoulders slumped. “Then why did you come get me?”

Bellamy feels his stomach drop. “What? I—because I _care_ about you Murphy. Jesus, what kind of guys have you been hanging out with?”

He shrugs, dejected. “The kind that give me a ride and buy me food and expect something in return.” Murphy lets out a quick, shuddering breath as he brings his knees up to his chest. He pins Bellamy with the saddest eyes he’s ever seen. “That’s what guys want from a devil like me."

“Murph.” Bellamy drops to his knees beside Murphy, pulling him tightly against his chest without warning. “I’m so sorry.” He feels Murphy’s body tremble, and with a quiet sob he grips Bellamy’s sweater and presses his face further into it. After a short while of holding Murphy and stroking his hair, Bellamy leans him back slightly so he can meet his gaze. “You don’t owe anything to me, or any other guy, no matter what. Okay?”

Murphy stares back at him for a long time like he’s waiting for the punchline. When it never comes he sniffles and nods. “Okay.”

***

They arrive at Miller’s house almost twenty minutes later. When Bellamy knocks on the door, he’s greeted by his smiling best friend. “It’s about time you guys showed—dude, what happened to your face?” Miller leans forward, squinting his eyes to get a closer look.

Bellamy touches the mark on his cheek. “Oh, it’s…it’s nothing.” Miller scowls at Bellamy’s deflection, but ushers the boys inside anyway. Bellamy glances around the living room quickly, assuring that David is asleep, then lowers his voice a bit as he turns to Miller. “Do you think it will be okay with your dad if we stay here until my mom and O get back?”

Miller frowns. “Yeah, you can stay as long as you need. _What_ is going on, Bellamy?” Murphy fidgets uncomfortably on the couch.

Bellamy sighs loudly. “We got into an argument with Caleb. He was going to kick Murphy out.” Miller nods grimly; Bellamy doesn’t need to elaborate.

“Is that from Caleb?” Miller gestures to his face, blunt as ever. Bellamy hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“Then _this_ idiot took off downtown and got wasted.” He gives Murphy a pointed glare.

Murphy, who’s nearly sober, raises his hands in defense. “Hey, at least I didn’t pick a fight with a stranger, Blake.” Miller raises his eyebrows at Bellamy, urging an explanation.

“Look, that’s not what happened.”

“‘Not what happened’ my ass!” Murphy pivots on the couch to face Miller. “So I’m making out in the alley with some dude who bought me a couple drinks—”

“A couple?” Miller crosses his arms.

“Bite me. Anyway, we’re in the alley when all of a sudden Bellamy shows up and flat out punches the guy.” He smirks. “It was pretty badass, actually.”

Miller glances at him with an eyebrow cocked in amusement as Bellamy’s face turns crimson. He curses silently, changes the subject. 

“What exactly were you thinking, by the way, roaming around the city by yourself, _drunk_ , with no phone? I know this isn’t L.A. but you still could have been, like, kidnapped or something!” Bellamy throws out his arms in exasperation at the others’ identical, unfazed expressions. “ _What_?”

“Don’t get your dick in a wad, Blake. Moore isn’t, like, a _real_ city.”

Before Bellamy can figure out what the hell any of that’s supposed to mean, Miller smirks at Murphy. “I’d bet you’d like to put his dick in a wad.”

Murphy barks out a laugh, smacking the side of Miller’s arm. “What does that even mean? You’re _so_ gay.” 

“ _You’re_ gay.” Miller leans over to shove him in the shoulder playfully, just hard enough for Murphy to collapse back on his elbows, supine against the couch cushions. Miller pins him down flat, roughhouse ready, as Murphy squirms out of his hold, slippery like an eel. Bellamy feels a heat settling in his abdomen watching the spectacle. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m gay.” The banter dies as the other boys turn to face Bellamy. He locks eyes with his best friend. “I’m gay, Miller.”

Miller stands, leveling Bellamy’s stare with his own. He waits for Miller’s reaction, anticipation rattling his skeleton. His heart races; his ribcage aches with it.

“Well damn, it’s about time, dude.”

Blackness creeps into Bellamy’s vision as he lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He nearly doubles over, tries to steady his weak stance against the arm of the couch. He gapes at Miller. “Wait, you _knew_? I didn’t even know!”

“Not just me. Raven and Clarke were placing bets on when you would figure it out.”

“Oh, who won?”

“Shut up, Murphy.” Bellamy groans. “Why didn’t you guys say anything?”

Miller scrubs a hand down his face with a sigh, feeling an awful lot like a babysitter, Bellamy imagines. “You had to come to the realization on your own, just like the rest of us.” He gestures to Murphy. “Although I’m pretty sure this jackass expedited the process.”

Murphy shrugs, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “What can I say? It’s not easy being a role model.”

Miller opens his mouth, presumably to insult Murphy, when they hear David’s voice at the threshold of the living room. He leans against the entryway with a fond grin. “Nathan? You didn’t tell me the boys would be stopping by. Trying to keep them all to yourself?”

Miller rolls his eyes. “Just didn’t want you stealing my Taco Bell.”

Bellamy smiles as David claps him on the back, chuckling, but concern overshadows his features when he notices the deepening bruise on Bellamy’s face. He puts his hand under the boy’s chin, tilting his head back to get a better look at it under the light. Bellamy grimaces, anticipating the inevitable question. “What happened here?”

“I kinda got in a fight earlier. That’s why we’re here, actually.” Miller and Murphy exchange uneasy glances.

David raises an eyebrow. “A fight? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“He _wasn’t_ fighting.” Murphy’s quiet voice doesn’t match the rage smoldering in his eyes. “Caleb hit him.”

“What? Bellamy, is that true?” 

He simply nods, eyes glued to the floor. Bellamy knows that Caleb was in the wrong, but he can’t help feeling like maybe he could have done more to stop him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” David places his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’m gonna go call Aurora and we’ll get this figured out, alright?” Bellamy feels a lump beginning to form in his throat and nods again, not trusting himself to speak. “You boys are more than welcome to stay here until your mom gets back.” He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket as he leaves the living room. Bellamy slumps, suddenly realizing how fucking exhausted he is.

“The spare bedroom is ready whenever you guys want it.” Miller offers a small smile. “I cleaned it up when you texted me.”

Bellamy, overwhelmed with gratitude, throws his arms around his best friend in a rare display of affection. He swallows hard and chokes out his appreciation. “Thank you so much, Nate.”

Miller hugs him back tightly. “Of course, man.”

Murphy, never one to resist ruining a Moment™, tackles the pair, planting sloppy kisses on both of their cheeks. “I’m not gonna lie, this is the gayest hug I’ve ever been a part of.” Bellamy pulls back, laughing as Miller scrubs where Murphy kissed him.

Miller scowls, but Bellamy can see the humor shining in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get your gay asses to bed before I change my mind about letting you crash here.”

***

Murphy and Bellamy finally slip into the guest bed together, more than ready for the night to be over. Sleep is elusive, however, and Bellamy finds himself lying wide awake, listening to his stepbrother’s fitful breathing. He wonders if Murphy ever has good dreams.

Bellamy uses the opportunity to examine the boy’s sleeping figure in depth. He takes his time studying the gentle slope of Murphy’s beak-like nose. He ghosts his fingertips along the long lashes that kiss Murphy’s skin as his closed eyes roam. He admires Murphy’s prominent cheekbones that expose the cutest dimples when he smiles. He resists the desire to capture Murphy’s soft, cupid's-bow lips between his teeth. 

He is all angles and edges and sharpness and everything Bellamy has ever wanted. Without thinking, he moves a rogue lock of hair that has fallen into his stepbrother’s face. His fingers feel electric where they brush against the other boy’s forehead. Murphy’s eyes flutter open before Bellamy can pull his hand back and he freezes, mortified at being caught. A tired smile graces Murphy’s features, and when he weaves his lithe fingers in Bellamy’s curls and presses their lips together earnestly, Bellamy praises a deity that he’s pretty sure doesn’t exist for creating this divine, unholy creature in front of him. “What was that for?” He blames the rasp in his voice on exhaustion, and not the fire that’s been ignited in his chest.

With a melancholic smile and uncharacteristic vulnerability, Murphy curls his smaller frame into Bellamy’s, burrowing under the older boy’s arm. He feels Murphy’s words ghost his ribs, rolling along the peaks and dipping down between the valleys, leaving goosebumps behind. “For caring about a devil like me.”

***

Bellamy is dragged into consciousness by the sharp sound of knocking. He finds Murphy tucked against his side, legs pulled up to his chest, stealing his warmth. Bellamy groggily pats around his pillow in search of his phone and flips it over to reveal the time. He swallows. Bellamy can only think of one person who would be dropping by for a visit at four in the morning. 

He slips out of bed, trying desperately not to wake Murphy, and sneaks to the bedroom door. Gnawing his lip, Bellamy opens it a crack, just enough to see a pajama-clad David opening the front door.

“Howdy, David. How are you and your boy this fine evening?” Bellamy’s stomach churns when he hears the familiar drawl of Caleb’s thick southern accent filling the entryway. He glances at Murphy, who’s miraculously sound asleep.

“Caleb.” David’s voice is flat and unamused as he glances at his watch and Bellamy can’t help cracking a smile at that. “It’s hardly evening. What brings you by at this hour?”

“Well, you see, David…” In the pause that follows, Bellamy can picture Caleb’s assured smile falter as he tries to explain his situation. “The boys and I had a little disagreement earlier and it seems as though they’ve run off together for a few hours.” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I thought maybe they would come here, since they’re both awfully close with your son.” He doesn’t miss the way Caleb emphasizes the word ‘close.’

“Sorry I can’t be of more help, but I haven’t seen either of the boys tonight. Caleb, does Aurora know they ran away? You _have_ called her, haven’t you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing that serious. Just boys being boys, right?” He backpedals quickly, forcing an uncomfortable chuckle, and then silence again. Bellamy can hear the crickets outside. Caleb lowers his voice a couple decibels. “You know, David, I don’t think any of this would have happened if your son hadn’t been encouraging John’s degenerate behavior.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” David crosses his arms.

“Listen, David, you’re a good man and I have a lot of respect for you and the time you served for our country. That being said, I can’t bring myself to overlook the way you’ve been raising Nathan. His homosexual lifestyle is a sin and an affront to God. I won’t permit Bellamy to see him anymore outside of school.” Bellamy pulls a quick breath through his teeth, barely containing the urge to jump to the defense of his best friend.

“I won’t stand here and listen to you degrade my son simply because of his sexual orientation. For their sake, I hope Bellamy and Murphy found a safe place to stay tonight.” David steps back to close the door and hesitates. “You know, Caleb, just because you’re a man of faith, that doesn’t give you the right to judge Nathan or Murphy, or anyone else for that matter.” He pauses to let it sink in. “ _Let he among us without sin cast the first stone_.” The pastor blinks dumbly, stunned, as David closes the door in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thiccens..... .. . ...... ..


End file.
